


Witness to Hidden Things

by LockedOwle



Series: Human 'verse [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Action, Angry Dean Winchester, Angst, Apocalypse, BAMF Bobby, Daddy Dean, End of the World, Gen, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Harry Potter, Powerful Harry, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-04 09:17:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LockedOwle/pseuds/LockedOwle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry will not let Dean go quietly into the night. Dean won’t let Harry go either. Part 2 in the Human‘Verse. AU Season 5. No Slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The high gods, clothed and crowned with patience,  
Endure through days of deathlike date;  
They bear the witness of things hidden;  
Before their eyes all life stands chidden,  
As they before the eyes of Fate.  
-Swinebourne “Ilicet” Lines 134-138 

 

Chapter 1: 

Castiel suddenly bent over, hissing in surprised pain and cupping his furrowed brow. Derailed from their argument, Bobby, Sam and Dean glanced over at him. 

“Cas, you okay,” Sam asked. 

“No,” Castiel said shortly, suddenly standing up and looking around. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Something’s happening,” Castiel said distractedly. 

“Where?” Dean asked. 

Castiel didn’t answer. Instead he disappeared in the muted flapping of wings. Sam heaved a long sigh and moved into the kitchen, trying not to look at his brother. Dean, stubborn ornery bastard that he sometimes was, took great pleasure in glowering at Sam and Bobby in turn. Dean could glare and pout as much as he wanted; it didn’t make what Sam knew untrue. Because right now, for the first time in a long time, Sam Winchester understood – no – understatement – Sam knew his brother. 

He knew all of it. A part of him, the part that was always so angry that he tried to ignore, resented Dean for his weakness. But mostly he felt the guilt of the profoundly selfish. Dean had been fighting his entire life. He’d fought for their father, following the man’s orders even after he’d died. He’d fought for Sam, probably more than he ought to have. He fought for strangers, for the whole of humanity, but Dean Winchester seemed to make a marked effort not to fight for himself. So here they were, Dean determined to do what he could for humanity before he went gently into the night, and Sam was holding onto him with everything he could before everything spun away from him.

But mostly Sam knew that Dean was tired, and there was nothing that could fix that except for rest. Well that wasn’t about to happen, the end being nigh like it was. 

There was a strong gust of wind, but before Sam or Dean could even turn to acknowledge Cas’ arrival, Bobby was calling out for them. 

Dean turned, not sure what he was expecting. It certainly wasn’t that familiar face, streaked liberally with dirt and mud. But there he was. Castiel moved over to Bobby’s bed, and with more care than Dean would’ve expected, laid that thin familiar body down. Cas moved back, allowing Dean to get up close. 

“Huh,” he grunted lowly. There was no denying that he was feeling something, but he did his best to hide it behind a curious frown. “What’s going on here Cas?”

“Angels,” Castiel said shortly, thumping two angel swords on the desk. 

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, turning to face Castiel with profound anger smoldering in his eyes. “Angels,” he repeated flatly. Castiel looked up at him, something like guilt drawing his brows down. Dean let him hang for a moment before he sighed and shook his head. “Why would they bring him back?” 

“I don’t know,” Castiel said. He moved forward, hand held out. “But he’s not what he was.” 

Dean smoothly stepped between Castiel and the motionless form on the bed, his whole body vibrating with suppressed violence. Castiel drew back, visibly surprised by Dean’s sudden hostility. 

“Whoa Mama Bear,” Bobby said and tugged Dean back by jerking on his t-shirt. 

Castiel’s gaze had turned back to the bed. “We must hide him,” he said. “As Master of Death he was hidden from us, but he is not hidden any longer. They raised him for a reason, and I doubt we want to discover why.” 

Sam watched Dean forcibly swallow his protective instincts and step aside. Castiel pressed his hand against that narrow chest, the points of contact beginning to glow as he carved into the kid’s ribs. 

And Harry’s hyper green eyes shot open, one slim grimy hand coming up to grip Castiel’s wrist. Job finished, Castiel shook himself free and moved back. Dean seamlessly took his place. 

“Easy,” he said calmly. 

Harry flinched away from him, eyes open so wide that the whites around the iris was clearly visible. Dean hesitated for a moment and then perched on the end of the bed. He glanced uneasily at Sam, Bobby and Castiel before dismissing them. He held out both hands, fingers splayed. 

“Easy, half-pint. You’re looking a bit better than the last time I saw you.” Harry relaxed slightly, one shaking hand coming up to cradle his brow. 

“I’m back here,” he said softly. “Why am I…” 

“The angels,” Castiel said helpfully. 

Harry looked up at him blearily, the words visibly failing to penetrate. “What?” He looked back to Dean, some of the typical sharpness returning to his gaze. “Dean? What the hell? I was…” He trailed off. “I was no where.” 

Then something fascinating happened. Harry’s hand fell from his head to land limply in his lap. He was staring at Dean, but his focus was far away. Even as he stared his eyes were never still, they jerked back and forth as if examining the Dean’s face. Sam drew back even further, disquieted by the display. Dean moved closer, peering into the kid’s face. 

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked shortly. 

“He is no longer Master of Death,” Castiel said, as if that explained anything. 

Dean frowned, reaching out to touch one of Harry’s small hands. At once Harry’s fingers tightened on Dean’s, gaze zeroing in. 

“They’re trying to use me against you,” he said desperately. “I…I think I was in heaven.” 

Dean rubbed his free hand over his face, looking a bit overwhelmed. For a moment Sam thought about moving forward and taking over this encounter, but one glance at the tight grip Harry had on Dean’s hand made the decision an easy one. 

“Yeah?” Dean said casually. “What did it look like?”

“It was really quiet,” Harry said simply. “Nothing much happened.” He frowned, shaking his head. “The angels came and said that they needed me to come back but it didn’t make any sense.” 

“What did they say?”

“They said that Michael needed me, that I could help convince you to say yes. It doesn’t make any sense!” 

“Okay,” Dean said calmly, and reached out to grasp Harry’s other hand, which had come up to grip at his hair in frustration. “We’ll figure everything out. Let’s hose you down first. You’re looking pretty gross.”

Dean glanced over his shoulder, jerking his head in a silent bid for them to stand aside. Sam frowned but stepped back, tugging Cas with him. Dean helped Harry down from the bed and propelled him out of the room. 

Sam looked down at Bobby, eyebrow raised in question. 

“Don’t look at me,” Bobby snarked. “I have no idea.” 

They both turned to Castiel, whose head had turned to follow Dean and Harry as they’d exited the room. He sensed their stares and turned to face them, his face as impassive as ever. 

“What?”

“Why’d the angels bring him back?” Sam asked, as if the question should have been obvious. 

Castiel frowned, turning to stare at the doorway again. “I’m unsure. It is no secret that Dean and the Master of Death--,” 

“Harry,” Sam interrupted softly. 

Castiel tilted his head to the side, staring at Sam curiously for a moment before he nodded. “It is no secret that Dean was fond of Harry. Perhaps they raised him thinking that they could use him against Dean. They incorrectly assumed that Dean would require further convincing.” 

Sam was quiet for a moment, making the decision not to respond to Castiel’s remark about Dean. “Does him being Master of Death mean that he can control the Horseman?” 

“No,” Castiel said shortly. “The Master of Death is not really the master of anything. It is a title given to a mortal born with the power over the common reapers.” 

“There are a few books that mention a Master of Death,” Bobby said as he wheeled himself behind his desk. “Some lore says that he’s just a supercharged reaper. It also says that he’s supposed to be immortal but we saw that disproven.”

“I didn’t know that reapers had ranks,” Sam said. 

“There is an hierarchy to everything,” Castiel responded flatly. “Even death.”

“And his supposed immortality?” 

Castiel thought for a moment. Finally he said, “His immortality is debatable. He was born a mortal, and through fate was given control over the deathly hollows. The true nature of death is shrouded, even from the angels, so I’m not sure what exactly his role is.”

“Back when…” Sam trailed off, remembering both Dean and Harry being rushed into the hospital after the fight with Alastair. It was like trying to remember a particularly vivid dream, but something stood out. “Dean believed that Harry was involved in all this. The demons wanted him in hell.” 

“Yes,” Castiel said. “I remember.” 

Sam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Castiel looked down at the ground for a moment, something like shame painting itself across his face before it was swiftly swept away. 

“Harry Potter’s soul was known to us. There was a minor prophet who chronicled his work for a time. She was killed.” Castiel frowned and shook his head. “She should not have been killed, but she was. Things were not supposed to happen the way they did. Harry Potter was not supposed to make a deal. He was not supposed to go to hell. He was not supposed to meet you or your brother.” 

“So why?” Sam asked earnestly. “Why were the demons so focused on him? If he wasn’t supposed to go to hell, why didn’t anyone rescue him?” 

Again Castiel’s face twisted, but this time the expression was deeper. It remained, even as he turned his head away. 

“I’m unsure,” he said lowly. “He should have been rescued. His soul cried out for such a long time. At first it was so loud that it shook heaven.” Castiel paused, examining the ground for a moment before he continued. “Zachariah told your brother that Alastair broke Harry, but Harry never broke. We would have heard it, like we heard Dean. Harry’s cries grew quiet, but they never stopped.” 

“Let me get this straight,” Bobby growled from behind his desk. Sam startled slightly, having forgotten that the older hunter was even there. “You knowingly left a 15 year old kid to rot in hell?” 

“He was not my task,” Castiel said flatly. 

Bobby shook his head in disgust. “Well I did the math,” he said gruffly. “I had to read a bit of those books.” Bobby actually looked a bit embarrassed at having to admit that he’d stooped so low as to read Harry Potter. It made Sam smile, however fleetingly. “The kid was dragged down when he was 15, that would have been in ’95. Twelve years later…” 

“2007,” Sam finished, quickly coming to the same conclusion. “The Devil’s Gate.” 

Bobby shrugged. “It’s all guess work. We’d have to ask him to be sure.”

“That sounds likely,” Castiel confirmed for them.

“Well good luck interrogating him,” Bobby said. “Only one other person I’ve seen that boy get so territorial over.” 

“Who?” Sam asked thoughtlessly. 

Bobby rolled his eyes. “What do you mean who? You, you idiot.” 

*

The first thing Dean did upon coming back downstairs was begin making a pot of coffee. It was impossible not to feel the stares, but to their credit Bobby and Sam had made a point look away by the time Dean turned to face them. Castiel however, was scowling at Dean, and making no effort to hide it. 

“Is he okay?” Sam asked when Dean joined them in the study. 

Dean ran a hand over his face and shrugged. “He’s a tough kid. He’ll be fine. He’s just a bit shaken up.” Dean paused, feeling a bit shaken himself. “He was at peace,” he said lowly. “Those bastards pulled him from it and threw him back in the center of this mess. Why?” 

“Cas said it might be a ploy to get you to cooperate,” Sam said. 

Castiel snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. Dean’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Something to say?” he goaded. 

“It’s unfortunate that they pulled him from peace for no reason. Little did they know that you’re planning on offering yourself to them without a fight.” 

“Blow me Cas,” Dean snapped. 

Sam raised his hands and inserted himself in-between them. “Lets all calm down,” he said reasonably. 

There was a soft clattering of dishes and they all turned to see Harry standing on his tiptoes to get a mug from the cabinet. He poured himself a cup of coffee and turned to face them, hair wet and weighted down from his shower. 

“All right, half-pint?” Dean asked lightly. 

Harry looked embarrassed for a moment before the expression went away. He gave a little shrug. 

“You ready to tell us what you know?” Bobby asked gruffly. 

Again Harry shrugged but came forward. It was impossible not to notice the way he skirted around everyone, taking special care to stay outside of an arms-span. It couldn’t have been easy, the room being as small as it was, but he managed it. He sat down on the bed, bringing his legs up underneath himself without spilling a drop of his coffee. Dean shifted closer, sitting down backwards in a nearby chair. 

Harry shot him a look, those sharp dark eyebrows raised in question. Dean gave him a reassuring nod. 

“I was in heaven,” Harry began, turning to address the entire room. “That asshole Zachariah showed up and in a nutshell said it was time to make myself useful.” Harry paused, looking over at Dean pensively. “Your brother was there. The other one, Aaron.” 

“You know damn well his name was Adam,” Dean said. 

Harry’s lips quirked up, a hint of mischievousness bleeding through his normally stoic expression. It reminded Dean of those few weeks on the road, Sammy in the passenger seat, Harry in the back. Simple hunts, criss-crossing the country to speak to different shamen and seers. Before Castiel had disappeared to heaven, only to return a brain washed shadow of himself. Before the heaviness weighed so heavy on his shoulders. 

Dean found himself smiling back, shaking his head ruefully. 

“Your brother was there,” Harry continued pointedly, once again turning to speak to everyone. “Zachariah was going to raise him instead, but he changed his mind. He said that I would be more affective.” Harry’s eyes jumped to Castiel for a moment before fastening back onto Dean. “What did he mean?” 

Sam opened his mouth, but Dean was already speaking. “It doesn’t matter,” he said calmly. He reached out and gave Harry’s narrow shoulder a little nudge. “You’ll be safe,” he promised. 

“Dean,” Sam barked. 

Dean turned on him, mentally prepared to dig in his heels in a way that he’d never had to do before. Dean was honest with himself – knew that he was a stubborn son of a bitch, more stubborn than their father, and spades more stubborn than his brother. This was not a fight that Dean was prepared to lose. 

“You can’t stop me,” Dean said, throwing his arms open in invitation. “We all know that this is it. We’re out of options.” 

“What’s going on?” Harry asked voice rising in alarm. 

Again Sam began to speak, but Dean interrupted him. “It’s nothing that you need to worry about.” 

Harry stared up at him, eyes wide and incredulous, but it seemed that Sam had finally had enough. He jumped to his feet and advanced on Dean, using those four extra inches to his advantage. Dean just lifted his chin, holding his ground. 

“I’m not going to let you do this,” Sam said firmly 

“Not going to let me do what? Save the world from Lucifer?”

“There has got to be another way.”

“This is bigger than me,” Dean said. “It’s bigger than all of us. One person is not worth the entire world.” 

“I don’t give a shit about the world!” Sam exploded. “I honestly could not give a single shit about anyone else. Dean, you’re my brother!”

Dean looked up at Sam, shocked speechless, wondering when Sam had reached out and grabbed his shoulders. It was hard staring into Sam’s eyes, seeing that he was probably quite literally breaking his brother’s heart. 

“Sam I --.” 

“Just give me more time,” Sam said desperately. “More time Dean. Please!” 

Dean had never been able to deny Sam anything, especially something so direct. Refusal rose up in him. He wanted to call his brother selfish – God – Sam had always been so fucking selfish. But Dean couldn’t do it. All he could do was nod and turn his head away. Sammy laughed, squeezed Dean’s shoulders and turned away to get back to work. Dean slipped his keys from his pocket and put them down on the desk in a show of trust. 

“I’ll be on the porch,” he said tonelessly. 

He stopped at the fridge and grabbed a few beers. Then he left the house without looking at anyone. He’d barely gotten himself settled before Harry was joining him. Not that he’d expected anything different. 

“What’s going on?” he asked again. “Tell me.” 

Dean twisted open one of the beers and took a long drink, stalling. The kid continued to scowl, and even if it wasn’t his intention, Dean felt himself relaxing a bit at the familiarity of it. 

“You look constipated,” he said lightly. 

Harry eyed him for a moment before sighing and sitting down on the step next to him. “Your stupid face looks constipated, and don’t try to change to subject.” 

Dean finished off the beer, absently handing the bottle to Harry, who immediately began picking at the label. 

“Can I have one?” Harry asked. 

Dean was moving to offer him a bottle before he even realized it, but then he paused and stopped himself. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen the kid drink. He, and even Bobby, was sometimes able to see past the physical form to what Harry actually was. But now, for the first time, Harry didn’t look like a weary miniature adult. He looked like a weary ten year old. If anyone had asked him to explain to difference, he wouldn’t have been able to. But here he was, and something important had changed. 

“No,” Dean said shortly. 

The answering frown was fleeting, but present. Harry, as sharp as he was, had noticed Dean’s thoughtful pause. True to form, he gave Dean a narrow eyed knowing glance and left it at that. Dean shook his head – not everything had changed. 

“I’m Michael’s vessel,” he blurted. Then he paused, surprised at himself. 

Harry had stilled next to him, suddenly tense fingers wrapped around the empty bottle. “A vessel,” he repeated dully. “An archangel’s vessel…” 

“Sam is Lucifer’s.” 

“That’s…” Harry paused, expression twisting in thought. “Fitting…” he finally said. 

Dean stamped down the surge of irritation that rose up, the same irritation that arose anytime anyone even hinted at paralleling he and his brother with Michael and the devil.

“You’re going to say yes,” Harry stated. 

Dean nodded anyway. “I have to.” 

Harry turned to look at him, examining his face carefully. Dean wasn’t sure what he saw, but he seemed satisfied when he looked away. 

“I understand,” he said quietly, and the words seemed strangely weighted. Dean frowned in confusion, but Harry had turned away to watch the sunset sink into the horizon. 

Dean followed his gaze, morosely wondering if the sun would still set after Michael and Lucifer were done tearing everything up. 

*

That night, tucked into bed in one of the upstairs guest rooms, Harry dreamed. 

He dreamed of an older man with a thin sunken face or was it a young girl with lank decaying hair? Or a thing without a face, just a gaping bottomless hole were a face might have been? Perhaps it was darkness neverending? An infinitely looping sunrise?

But then it all condensed and became the older man again. It spoke to him, touched him with hands that were either burning cold or burning hot. Its voice was soft and it buoyed him up, imparting a hard truth that he felt he’d always known. It touched his face, gave him its blessing and told him that it would all be okay. No matter what, it said, everything would turn out fine. 

And Harry believed it, and for perhaps the second time in his eventful life knew without a doubt what he needed to do.


	2. Chapter 2

The high gods, clothed and crowned with patience,  
Endure through days of deathlike date;  
They bear the witness of things hidden;  
Before their eyes all life stands chidden,  
As they before the eyes of Fate.  
-Swinebourne “Ilicet” Lines 134-138

Chapter 2: 

If Dean allowed himself to stop and think, he would have realized -- and likely been horrified -- by two very important things. 

The first and most prominent being that he hadn’t felt this kind of panic in a long time. It was important because Dean felt panic on a daily basis, usually more than once in a day depending on what he and Sam had gotten into. That sort of panic was different. He could typically work through that sort of panic. This was worse; this had more than a splash of helplessness attached to it. It was the helplessness that made it hard to put aside. 

The second important thing might have been the sense of awe. Pure, uninhibited awe that he was reacting this way in the first place. There was quite a bit going on – the end of the world and all that. Yet here he was, attention effectively diverted.

These would be the things Dean would have thought if he’d had the time. Instead he tore through Bobby’s house, throwing everything he thought he’d need into the car. He ignored Bobby and Sam and their half-hearted attempts to stop him. He could not be stopped. 

“Let’s just talk about it,” Sam said desperately, blocking the door as best he could. “Dean, think it through. This could be a good thing.” 

Dean’s head jerked back, eyes narrowing. He watched his brother tense, responding to the barely restrained violence that was forcing Dean’s hands into clenched fists. 

“I know that you care about him,” Sam said earnestly. “I get that. But think about it. This is a trap. ‘We go in smart or we don’t go in at all.’ Remember?”

Dean didn’t let himself respond to having his own words thrown back at him. Instead he took a step forward, expression tightening when Sam still didn’t move aside. 

“I do not understand your anger,” Castiel stated flatly. “This is exactly what you wanted. Michael and Lucifer will have their fight. They are not in their proper vessels so the damage would most likely be less severe.” 

“That’s not the point!” Dean snapped. “I’m not going to let the kid throw his life away.” 

“Why not?” Castiel asked, and actually seemed genuinely confused. “You are willing to sacrifice your own life. Why are you unable to accept that another might be willing to do the same?” 

Dean glowered, unwilling to get into that right now. Sam, the overgrown girl that he was, jumped in headfirst. 

“You always do this Dean,” he said. “Don’t you realize that you matter just as much as everyone else?” 

“That’s not the issue here. It’s my job to protect people. Mine. You don’t send a civilian in on a suicide mission.”

“He was the Master of Death,” Castiel said. “I doubt that anyone would consider him a civilian.” 

“His name is Harry Potter goddamnit,” Dean barked. “He was a 15 year old kid who made a deal to save everyone he knew and was dragged to hell and tortured for more than a thousand years. The only reason he’s here at all is because the Devil’s Gate got torn open. No one rescued him. We ain’t got a monopoly on suffering,” he said heatedly, turning on his brother. “I happen to think that this kid should get a fucking break, and I can make sure that happens. But not if the little bastard agrees to make himself a angel condom before I can stop him!”

Sam’s face was twisted into his most earnest expression, hands out and spread. “We need to think this through.” 

“All of you need to shut the hell up!” Bobby snarled from behind the desk. He had Harry’s note spread out in front of him, his hand preventing it from returning to the crumbled ball Dean had made of it a few minutes ago. “Sam’s right. We can’t go running in there half-cocked. No one is going to take one for the team. No one,” he repeated staring at Dean. 

Dean hesitated and Bobby outright snarled at him. “Damn-it boy! No. We’ll figure out another way.”

“Bobby…”

“Promise me,” Bobby said lowly. “Promise me or we’ll knock you out and lock you up in the panic room.” 

Looking into Bobby’s eyes, Dean had no doubt that he would do it. He still hesitated, never comfortable lying to family. 

Bobby’s face softened. “I get it Dean,” he said, and Dean was glad that someone got it, because he definitely didn’t. His uncertainty must have been pretty transparent, because Bobby huffed, face softening by degrees. “We’ll go get him, but we got to do this together.”  
Dean finally backed down, dropping his hastily packed bag at his feet. “Fine,” he said sharply. “Where would they take him?” 

Castiel paused thoughtfully. “If they plan on using him to bait you, they most likely took him to the Green Room.” 

Dean frowned in confusion for a moment before he recalled what Cas might have been talking about. 

“The beautiful room?” he asked, and Cas nodded. “What are we waiting for?” 

Before Cas zapped them away, Dean got one last look at Bobby. The old hunter was staring deeply into his eyes, expression as pleading as the man could make it. Dean’s gaze flicked down, before flicking back up. He had time to nod, and see Bobby nod in return, before Castiel transported them out of the room. 

*

“Where are we?” Dean asked, looking around at the run down factories.

“Van Nuys, California,” Castiel said flatly. 

“Where’s the beautiful room?” 

“In there.”

“The beautiful room is in an abandoned muffler factory in Van Nuys, California?” 

“Where did you think it was?” 

“I don’t know. Jupiter? A blade of grass? Not in Van Nuys.” 

Sam rolled his eyes, gazing at the factory shrewdly. “Okay guys. What’s the plan?” 

“We bust in there, rescue Harry, and then ground him for being a sacrificing idiot,” Dean said seriously. 

Sam averted his eyes as he thought through his brother’s statement. “You’re going to try to put the Master of Death in timeout?” 

Castiel sighed and shook his head. “He is not the Master of Death any longer. He is completely mortal, which makes him even more vulnerable than he was before.” Castiel took off his tie, the first time either brother had seen him do so. 

“Why can’t you just go in there and get him?” Dean asked. 

“There are five angels in there,” Castiel said, and began unbuttoning his shirt. 

“You’re fast,” Sam said, watching the angel’s actions in confusion. 

“They are faster,” Castiel replied. 

“So you’re going to go in there and take on five angels? Isn’t that suicide?” Dean asked. 

Castiel looked up at Dean, his expression drawn and slightly angry. “Maybe it is, but then I won’t have to watch you fall. I’m sorry, Dean,” he said, and he actually did seem very sorry. “But I don’t have the faith in you that Bobby or Sam seem to have.” 

Dean frowned at him, but honestly did not know what to say. He stared into Castiel’s eyes for a moment, seeing disappointment there. He ached with the need to tell Castiel that he had nothing to worry about but a small part of him knew that he would say yes if it meant saving the people that he cared about. 

Castiel sighed, shaking his head slightly. He wordlessly pulled a box cutter from his pocket. 

Voice slightly hushed, Sam asked, “What the hell are you going to do with that?”

Castiel hesitated for a moment. “I am doing what must be done. I hope that Harry is worth it.”

How awful did it make him, that there was no doubt in Dean’s mind that Harry was absolutely worth it? Castiel got to work with the box cutter, and Sam and Dean moved a few steps away.

“Why do you care so much?” Sam finally asked. 

Dean clenched his jaw, ignoring the question the same way he had every time Sam had asked it. This time Sam didn’t let him. He grasped Dean by the shoulder and spun him around, getting up close to his face. 

“What is it about him Dean? You barely know him!” 

“I don’t know,” Dean hissed, and he pushed Sam away from him. “He needs help, and it’s our job to help people. Why does there need to be any more to it?” 

“Because there obviously is more to it.” 

Dean seethed to himself, clenching his fists against the urge to punch Sam in the mouth. Thankfully Castiel was beckoning them back over, so Dean shook his head and moved around his brother without saying anything further. 

“I’ll go in first,” Castiel said calmly. “Wait a few minutes and then follow.” 

“Thank you,” Dean said earnestly. 

Castiel paused, staring into Dean’s eyes for a moment. He nodded, eyebrows twitching into that certain soulful look that reminded Dean so much of Sam. Then he turned and entered the warehouse, letting the door thud shut behind him. Sam and Dean stood in silence, listening intently to the sound of Castiel fighting. There was a bright flash of light from underneath the door as Castiel activated the banishing sigils cut into his skin. As instructed, Sam and Dean waited for a minute or two before entering the warehouse. 

Dean eyed the room in the corner of the huge space inside the warehouse. He motioned soundlessly with a tilt of his head, glancing meaningfully at Sam. His brother scooped up one of the discarded angel swords and nodded for Dean to go ahead. Dean hefted his own sword and carefully entered the familiar, impossible looking, room. At first glance he couldn’t find the kid, and he panicked because if he wasn’t here he could be anywhere. He searched the lightly shadowed corners and saw the kid slumped against one of the walls. 

“Harry,” he said sharply, quickly moving to the boy’s side. “Harry. Hey, you with me?” 

“You should have stayed away,” Harry croaked, blood staining his tips and chin. Dean swallowed the oily feeling that tried to rise up the back of his throat at the sight. 

“Yeah well, here I am. Can you stand?” He didn’t wait for Harry to answer. Instead he wrapped his free hand around one of the boy’s thin arms, carefully lifting him to his feet. “We’ll have a nice long chat about why you shouldn’t give yourself over to asshole angels as soon as we get back to Bobby’s,” Dean said, beginning to guide Harry to the door. 

“Oh Dean,” Zachariah said as he appeared in front of them. “You didn’t think it would be that easy would you?”

“Did you?” Dean quipped. 

Entering unseen, Sam slashed at Zachariah with his angel sword. Dean forced himself not to rush forward when his brother was easily batted aside.

“Do you know what this whole experience has taught me Dean?” Zachariah asked as he straightened his suit jacket.

“How to be the world’s biggest douchebag?”

“Cute. No, Dean. It’s taught me patience.” 

The angel gestured at Harry and the boy suddenly doubled over, bleeding anew from the mouth. 

“Shit. Let him go you bastard!” 

“I mean, I thought I was downsized for sure, and for us, a firing...pretty damn literal. I should have trusted the boss man. It's all playing out like he said.” Zachariah titled his head as he stared down at Harry. “As surprising as that is.” The angel turned and gestured to Sam who curled around his stomach, blood dripping from his mouth and nose.

“You’re finally ready, right?” Zachariah asked, his gentle tone at odds with the utter ruthlessness of his expression. 

“Stop it! Let them both go!” 

“In return for…?” 

Dean struggled, looking between Harry and Sam. They were both staring at him, Sam’s eyes begging, screaming, for him not to do it. Harry’s expression was a little harder to puzzle out, but that had always been at least partially true. He couldn’t be completely certain, but there was a resignation there that was disheartening, and a determination that was downright frightening. Dean tore his eyes away, looking once more at his brother, before forcing his shoulders straight and his chin up. 

“Fine,” he said lowly. “Yes. The answer is yes.” 

“Dean…” 

Dean forced himself to ignore his Sam’s anguished exclamation, fastening his eyes on the angel. “Call him down.” 

Zachariah’s face was trying to split into a triumphant grin, but he was fighting against it, suspicion drawing his brows down into a frown. 

“How do I know that you’re not lying?” 

“Do I look like I’m lying?”

Zachariah finally allowed himself to grin and turned away to begin chatting. Dean turned, catching Sammy’s eye. He made himself smile, trying to wordlessly convey all the things that he didn’t have time to say. 

“He’s coming,” Zachariah said, smug face nearly glowing. 

“I have some conditions,” Dean said as the room began to shake around him. “A few people whose safety you have to guarantee before I say yes.” 

“Sure, fine. Make a list.” 

“But most of all. Michael can’t have me until he disintegrates you.”

There was a mild pressure on his boot, and Dean glanced down as Zachariah stalked toward him. Harry was attempting to pull himself up, small fists clenched around the loose material of his pant leg. Dean looked back up in time to see that Zachariah had gotten really close. 

“What did you say?” 

Dean leaned forward. “I said, that before Michael gets one piece of this sweet ass, he has to turn you into a piece of charcoal.”

Zachariah reached forward, jerking at Dean’s collar. Before Dean could even think of retaliating, he felt Harry’s quick hands pawing at his jacket. Then saw Harry wrap one of those hands around Zachariah’s tie and tug the angel down to the kid’s eye level. Dean staggered a step back, staring in shock at the feral look in Harry’s eyes. 

“You reap what you sow, bastard,” the kid hissed, and plunged the angel killing sword he’d lifted off Dean into Zachariah’s chest.

The kid pushed the angel’s body away as it ignited, breath coming fast. Dean shook his head, and couldn’t help but to grin. 

“Shit kid…” 

“Asshole had it coming,” Harry panted. He glanced around at the shaking room. “We should leave.” 

“Yeah…” Dean said. “We should.” 

He walked over to Sam, gathering him up and manhandling him toward the door. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see Harry right behind him. Instead the boy was standing in the middle of the room as it shook harder and brightened around him. Dean’s eyes widened in alarm. 

“Don’t let him say yes!” Harry shouted over the sound of Michael’s impending touchdown. 

Dean managed to deposit Sam on the floor, never taking his eyes from Harry. “I’m coming for you! Hold on!” 

Harry tilted his head up, squinting against the blinding light. Dean ran forward, only to have the door slam in his face. Dean grabbed the handle, but tugged his hand back as the heat scorched his fingers. 

“Fuck! Harry!” 

He tried again, with much the same result. The light brightened and Dean was forced to back away. Finally, the light died away and Dean wasted no time in wrenching the door open. The beautiful room had been burned away. 

Dean kicked the doorjamb and stomped a few paces back and forth, hands clasped behind his head. 

“What happened?” Sam croaked from behind him. 

Dean couldn’t speak. He chest was overtight, the edges of his vision blurry, as his heart pulsed sharply in his ears. There was no loss, not like last time. It was anger, profound in its intensity. He wasn’t surprised that most of it was directed at Harry himself. He’d done this -- Harry had done this – when all Dean wanted to do was keep him safe. 

*

The drive back to Sioux Falls was done mostly in silence, Sam fidgeting in the passenger seat. He wanted to reach out, to comfort, but he knew that he would be violently rejected if he tried. So instead he sat in silence, trying to exude as much understanding as he could. The truth was however, that he did not understand Dean’s grief and anger, because he didn’t understand this bond that had popped up between his brother and the Master of Death. 

If he were honest, he would admit that Harry had offered understanding to Dean when Sam hadn’t been able to, and that was the reason for their attachment to each other. Their shared time in hell meant that they could empathize where literally no one else could. Looking back, Sam would admit that in the beginning he would have killed to be the one that Dean looked to for understanding. Admittedly, when it had become very clear that Dean had come back altered, weaker, Sam had begun to resent his brother. He’d begun to resent him for needing when Dean had always been the provider, the leader. Sam had felt like he was pulling a dead weight with him. His interest had been passing, always tempered with the thought that perhaps Dean would be better served sitting the whole thing out if he wasn’t able to step up. 

Sam was ashamed of those thoughts now, embarrassed that he was even capable of thinking such things about his brother who had loved him so deeply that he had went to hell for him.

Harry had been there, doing the job that should have been Sam’s. Intellectually, Sam got it. But in the end the little brother in him couldn’t help but feel threatened. How horrible was he, that he was making his brother’s grief about himself? 

Sam sucked in a determined breath. “Do you think he’s okay?” 

Dean was quiet for a long time, so long that Sam was sure that he wasn’t going to answer. Finally Dean sighed, shoulders slumping. “No. I don’t think he’s okay.” 

Dean’s fingers flexed on the wheel, his expression distant. 

“I’m glad that I won’t have any kids,” he suddenly said.

Sam nearly startled out of his skin, the flatness in Dean’s voice telling him more about his brother’s state of mind than anything else could’ve. 

“Don’t say that,” Sam said desperately. “Dean, it wasn’t your fault.” 

“I know it wasn’t my fault,” Dean snapped, but even as he said the words, Sam could tell that he didn’t believe them. “Fuck,” Dean cursed, and rubbed a hand over his face, eyes barely on the road. 

“Dean…” Sam began but didn’t know what to say. A part of him wanted to go back to the tense silence of before. He sucked in another breath, determined to finally be a good brother. “Dean look, you can’t blame yourself for this. We don’t even know what really went down. After all that talk of you being the true vessel, I doubt that Michael can exist in Harry for long, if at all. For all we know, Harry was transported somewhere else.” 

Dean shook his head. “I had another chance, and I blew it.” 

“Dean what--?” 

“It’s so stupid,” Dean growled, speaking mostly to himself now. “I had this picture in my head…” He fell silent, the fight drained out of him. 

Sam floundered desperately for something to say, but this was a side of his brother had he’d never seen before. Dean had never wanted domesticity, at least that’s what Sam had thought. 

“Don’t give up,” he finally said. “We’ll figure something out.”

Dean didn’t say anything, reverting back to his grieving silence. Sam reached out and touched Dean’s shoulder, risking rejection but absolutely needing to offer comfort. To his surprise, Dean didn’t shrug him off. 

That alone was telling enough. 

*

It certainly wasn’t what he expected, Michael finally decided. But it would work. 

It was not as poetic, and it irked that centuries of careful planning would be for naught, but ‘desperate times’, as the humans liked to say.

“A shame that you already killed Zachariah,” he told the child through his reflection. “I would have smote him for pulling you from paradise.”

“Good to know,” the child said flatly. “Adam probably would have been a better fit for you.” 

“Yes,” Michael agreed, pulling at one of the locks of hair hanging down into his face. “Not to say that there aren’t perks to this situation as well. Dean is infinity more fond of you than he was of his half brother, so perhaps there’s still a chance that he will say yes to save you.” 

“Save me,” the child repeated flatly. 

“Well save you in the most basic sense.” Michael said flippantly. 

The child looked away, his presence shrinking even more. Michael turned away from the mirror, flexing his hands. Even fully grown, Harry Potter would have never been considered physically impressive. Why he had chosen to appear as a child was puzzling but unimportant. Michael had fixed it, he’d fixed everything, and he appeared as the child would have at his peak. The alterations had strained the boy and already he could feel the boy beginning to break down, burning away from the inside out. He would not last long, but Michael did not need him to. He would fight his brother, and it would happen soon. 

“This is not what my Father would have picked for you,” he found himself saying as the presence continued to retreat. 

The boy once again met his gaze, emotions rising for the first time. 

“That’s good to know,” the child said quietly, his voice heavy with the exhaustion of a millennia of suffering. “For what it’s worth.” 

“When it is over, I will make sure that you are at peace,” Michael promised. 

The child stared at him through the mirror’s cracked reflection, gaze inexplicably soulful for a mortal. 

After a moment Michael drew back, frowning as a realization lethargically unfolded inside him. As soon as the thought came to him he suppressed it because he could not afford it. It was ludicrous, demeaning to his brother and sister angels and all that they had had suffered to bring him here. His father had given him his orders, and Michael would follow them absolutely. 

But Michael would carry the thought with him. He would do his best to not consider it, but denial was one of the many paths to doubt. 

Michael did not doubt. 

But…why did this boy appear to know something that he did not?


	3. Chapter 3

The high gods, clothed and crowned with patience,  
Endure through days of deathlike date;  
They bear the witness of things hidden;  
Before their eyes all life stands chidden,  
As they before the eyes of Fate.  
-Swinebourne “Ilicet” Lines 134-138

Chapter 3: 

“How long have you known?” Gabriel asked, tone resigned and expression just this shy of mocking. 

Kali’s lips turned up at the corners, but her eyes were far too cold for it to be considered a smile. 

“Well surprise, surprise,” Kali said, addressing the other gods in the room. “The trickster has tricked us.” 

“Kali, don’t.” 

Kali ignored Gabriel’s soft entreatment, reaching forward to run one of her hands over the archangel’s shoulders. “You’re mine now,” she said lowly. “And you have something I want.” 

Kali’s hand slipped into Gabriel’s jacket, but suddenly she paused, tension snapping into her shoulders and spine. She glanced over at the double doors, expression hardening. 

“You brought company,” she said flatly. 

But Gabriel’s expression had twisted, his attention arrested by whatever the other gods had noticed. Dean glanced at Sam, who shrugged lightly in response. They didn’t have a wait long. One side of the double doors pushed inward, and a familiar face appeared a moment later.

Harry would have grown up to be a handsome dude, Dean couldn’t help but think. And if the sentiment was liberally seasoned with what he was beginning to recognize as parental pride, then Dean was finally able to admit that he was all right with that. Harry wasn’t tall by any means, but the kid had always seemed small. He looked well enough – none of the damage that he’d seen on the poor bastard that Lucifer was riding around in. But it had only been a few weeks, Dean grimly reminded himself. 

“Brother,” Michael greeted Gabriel casually, Harry’s crisp accent somehow even sharper as the angel used him as a mouthpiece. 

Gabriel said nothing in response, his lips slightly parted and his hands slack on the arms of his chair. Michael smiled, moving around the room unconcernedly. 

“That is all you have to say to me? It’s been eons.” 

“How did you get here?” Gabriel finally blurted. 

Michael tilted his head to the side, eyeing the attendant that that checked him and Sam in, Mercury. The other gods eyed him as well, their countenances darkening as they all came to the same conclusion.

“Don’t blame him,” Michael said calmly. “He was right to contact me.” He turned his head, his gaze settling on each of them in turn. When that sharp gaze reached Sam and his brother, he hesitated for a moment, a frown flittering across his face almost too fast for Dean to catch it. Michael turned to Kali, expression serene and just this side of arrogant. “It is foolish, thinking that you can stop what my Father has commanded to happen.” 

“Your Father,” Kali spat, fire flickering at her fingertips. “Your Father was not the first. He does not get to decide how this world will end.” 

“He created it,” Michael said calmly. “He created everything. Even you. You will not interfere.” 

“Or what?” Baldur asked, taking a threatening step forward. 

Michael looked up at him, slumped comfortably in his chair. If he felt threatened it didn’t show. For the record, Dean greatly doubted that Michael was capable of feeling threatened at all. 

“I will smote you from existence,” Michael said, his tone almost gentle. 

Baldur drew himself up, perhaps to follow through on his threat, but suddenly he stopped. His attention, as well as the attention of every other god in the room, was on the doors again. Dean’s stomach churned because there was only one way this whole mess could get any worse. 

Lucifer’s entrance was much more explosive than Michael’s. The double doors exploded inward, one of them nearly coming off the hinges. Dean heard Sam’s breathing speed up, and knew that his must have as well. They really needn’t have worried. Lucifer didn’t have attention for anyone else but Michael, who was slowly getting to his feet. 

“Brother,” Lucifer greeted. 

“Brother,” Michael replied. 

Gabriel also stood, and Lucifer turned his gaze on him, seemingly noticing him for the first time. “Brother,” he said again, and there was warmth there that Dean couldn’t deny.

Gabriel looked between the two of them, shoulders hunched and expression hesitant. “You don’t have to do this,” he said softly. 

Lucifer tilted his head to the side, and Dean didn’t know what exactly to feel when the saw that Michael had done the same. Brothers, came the creeping realization. Like he and Sam were brothers. From the sudden tension in Sam’s shoulders, he’d come to the same realization. 

“Now, now,” Lucifer said chidingly. “You know better than that little brother.” 

Gabriel bristled. “No. There’s no reason to do this.” 

“Our Father--,” Michael began. 

“If He was worth anything then He wouldn’t make you do this!” Gabriel snapped. “You want to pretend that this is some grand design of His, but this is about you being a jealous ass, and you blindly following orders.” 

Lucifer took a threatening step forward, but Michael coolly stepped in between them. He did not look overly pleased. Dean glanced at Sam and raised his eyebrows. Sam stared back at him, eyes wide. No ideas there. Dean glanced around at the pagan gods in the room, and saw that they looked equally discomforted. No help from anyone, Dean thought bleakly. 

“Look at the angels,” Baldur said. “So petty.” 

Lucifer and Michael turned at to him, their faces wiped clean of expression. Unseen, Gabriel closed his eyes and bowed his head. 

“What did he say?” Lucifer asked rhetorically, glancing at Michael. 

Michael didn’t respond, but his eyes narrowed slightly. Suddenly Gabriel was standing behind the brothers, his grip on their arms tight and desperate. 

“C’mon,” he hissed. And then they were standing next to the doors leading outside, stumbling from the rapid change of location. 

“What the --?” 

Sam’s exclamation was cut for as Gabriel reappeared a moment later, his hand wrapped around Kali’s wrist.

“Get us out of here,” he ordered. 

“No!” she barked and jerked against Gabriel. “I will fight. I will--.” 

Gabriel grabbed her other wrist and shook her until she fell silent. “Let me explain something to you,” he said, voice low and expression deadly serious. “All the peons in there are already dead. If we stay here, they will kill you too. You’re less than nothing to them. Do you understand?” 

Kali opened her mouth but hesitated. Gabriel dropped her wrists and positioned himself in front of her, Sam and Dean, glaring at Michael who had appeared at the end of the hallway. Harry’s face and chest were splattered with gore. His hands were coated in it. 

“Benevolent Archangel Michael,” he hissed before he could stop himself. 

Michael stepped closer, expression distantly amused. “I am a solider Dean. My Father’s solider.” 

“And God’s number one guy goes around raping children?” 

Gabriel hissed and Michael’s head jerked, the whole of his attention pinned onto Dean. His face darkened. It was the angriest Dean had seen that face, save for their shared encounter his Alistair. 

“God has many plans,” Michael said lowly. “Harry Potter is a replacement, as Seth replaced Abel. He is what we need him to be, and nothing more.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sam said under his breath. 

“Get out of here,” Gabriel hissed at them without turning his head. “Kali go!” 

Sam finally made himself useful. He wrapped his hand around Kali’s wrist and made for the door. Dean hesitated for a moment, watching as Gabriel finally drew his sword and clashed with Michael in the middle of the hallway. 

“Dean!” 

Dean spun, crashing through the front door and running toward the car. 

*

Michael watched them go, huffing at the lost opportunity. “Gabriel…” he said in disappointment and effortlessly pushed the other angel back. Lucifer appeared at the double doors, dragging a dismembered arm behind him. 

“Oh, did I miss the Winchesters?” he asked idly. 

“Harry Potter, I know that you can hear me in there,” Gabriel said suddenly. 

Michael frowned head tilted to the side and a slightly startled smile curling his lips. “I’m sorry?” 

“I’m sorry Harry,” Gabriel said sincerely. “I need you to talk to me. Please.”

The change happened between blinks. Quite suddenly Harry was riding his own body again. Immediately his shoulders slumped, knees buckling. Gabriel was there, arms wrapped around Harry’s waist as he half dragged, half supported Harry to one of the couches. 

“Interesting,” Lucifer said calmly and followed. 

“Harry,” Gabriel greeted shakily, hands supporting Harry’s lolling head. “What have you done to yourself?” 

“How do you know me?” Harry asked fuzzily. “Who are you?” 

“Of course I know you,” Gabriel said. “I’ve known you since before you were born, and I know that you can’t let Michael do this.”

Lucifer leaned in close, his face next to Gabriel’s. He spoke to the other angel without looking at him. “You think this will work?” he asked.

Gabriel ignored him, moving his face closer to Harry’s. “If you don’t get a handle on this he’ll destroy everything. Do you hear me? The entire world. Everything that you suffered to save.” 

Harry frowned, the bleariness in his eyes refusing to retreat. And then Michael was back, and he was scowling. Gabriel released him at once, taking a few quick steps away to create distance between them. Lucifer just tilted his head to the side, examining Michael amusedly. 

“Haven’t broken him in yet?” he asked mockingly. 

Michael looked between the two of them, shaken but trying his best not to show it. He disappeared a moment later, the sound of his wings echoing for a moment before it faded away. 

“Interesting,” Lucifer said again He turned to Gabriel, the whole of that unsettling attention on his youngest brother. “What exactly were you doing here? Plotting against us?” Gabriel took a wary step back. “You cannot stop the inevitable. Join me.” 

“No,” Gabriel said, and managed to surprise himself with the strength of his voice. “This doesn’t have to happen. Our Father made the humans for a reason, and I don’t think that he’d appreciate their mass murder.”

“If he didn’t want this to happen, then he would not have cast me down.”

Gabriel shook his head, knowing that he had to leave, and leave right now. Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, moving forward as he sensed Gabriel’s pending escape. He was too late; Gabriel had already flitted away, appearing in the back seat of the Winchester’s car. 

“We’re fucked,” he announced bleakly. 

Dean cursed, the Impala jerking before it was quickly brought back under control. “I hate it when you guys do that,” he said lowly. 

“You got away,” Sam observed but his question was explicit.

“Yeah,” Gabriel said seriously. “Do you still want to kill the devil?” 

Dean glanced at him through the rearview mirror and Sam twisted around in his seat. They looked hopeful but wary. 

“Harry Potter is your best chance.” 

There was a sudden tenseness in Dean that could not be ignored, and Gabriel leaned forward. 

“So it’s true,” he said, unable to hide the fascination from his voice. “You do care for him. I never would have pegged you for as the parental type.” 

“Do you have a point?” 

Gabriel rested his elbows on the backs of the car seats, sobering quickly. “What do you know of Harry?” 

“He’s the Harry Potter from the books,” Dean said shortly. “He made a deal, went to hell.” Dean glanced at him, expression dark. “We think he might have escaped when the Devil’s Gate opened.” 

“He’s important,” Sam added. “There was a prophet writing his story, like Chuck’s writing ours. The demons made him Master of Death--.” 

“Wrong,” Gabriel interrupted. 

“What?” 

Gabriel looked between the two of them, wondering how much he should and could reveal. “Dear Lucy thinks that he can control Death. He can’t. No one can. Death is…large,” Gabriel said. “Complicated. Sometimes it reaches out and touches mortals, marks them. Harry is so marked.” 

“What does that mean?” Dean asked. 

Gabriel paused, and finally shrugged. “Death can act through him, or treat him differently than other mortal souls.” 

“In the books it said that he became Master of Death by collecting the Deathly Hallows,” Sam said. He reached into the bag at his feet and pulled out a familiar paperback with numerous post-it notes sticking out of it. Gabriel tilted his head to the side, eyeing the book in amusement. 

“That was not written by Joanne Rowling,” Gabriel said. 

“Obviously,” Sam said, pointing to the name at the bottom of the book’s cover. “But they used her notes…” Sam trailed off, coming to a realization without Gabriel’s help. “But if her power worked like Chuck’s, then she wouldn’t have known.”

“As far as heaven knew, Harry’s story stopped when he went to hell,” Gabriel told them. “The demons knew that he was important, but they weren’t sure how. They wanted him out of the way. Maybe they thought that he could break the first seal.” Gabriel shrugged lightly. “I can’t speak for them. But what I do know is that Harry is what we’ll call a…wild card.” 

“A replacement…” Sam said, glancing at his brother. “Descended from Seth?”

“That is true,” Gabriel confirmed with a nod. “God granted Adam a third son, to fill the hole that Abel’s death left in his heart.” 

“What does this have to do with killing Lucifer?” Dean asked shortly. 

“Michael knows all of this, but to him Harry is just another mortal. That’s can’t be true. His soul has been marked since birth, and then he spent more than a thousand years in hell and didn’t come out a blood-thirsty demon? No. He’s something else. Something more than human. Which means that he might be able to take the reins back.” 

Gabriel dropped that bomb, and sat back, extremely proud of himself. The brothers were silent, staring through the windshield with similar looks on their faces as they thought through what Gabriel had told them. 

“So what?” Dean asked lowly. “What does it matter if Harry’s driving, instead of Michael? The world is still toast.” 

“No,” Gabriel said and leaned forward again. “Because with Harry’s help we can toss Lucifer right back where he came from.”

“How?” 

“Four keys,” Gabriel said gleefully. “Four rings from the horsemen.”

Sam turned in his seat, the hope in his eyes undisguised. Gabriel grinned at him. Dean remained silent, face unreadable as he stared out at the road. 

“And Harry?” he asked. 

“What about him?” Gabriel asked, feigning confusion. 

Dean glared at him through the rearview mirror. “You know what I mean.”

Gabriel sighed. “Look, the kid’s soul might be super-powered, but his body is completely mortal. They’ll be…damage.” 

“How much?” 

“He’ll survive,” Gabriel hedged. Dean glanced at him one more time, and fell into tense silence. “What do you say?” 

“It’s more than we had before,” Sam said, glancing at his brother. 

Dean nodded, but remained silent. Gabriel rubbed a hand over his face. “Look, there’s always--.”

“Don’t,” Dean growled, and Gabriel fell silent.

“We already have two of the rings,” Sam said into the silence. “We just need Pestilence’s and Death’s.” Sam eyed Gabriel with interest. “What will you do now?” 

“Lucifer can’t stand up to Michael right now. His vessel is too damaged. He’ll wait until Harry’s body starts to break down, to put them on even footing. Or he might make another try at Sam. Michael will want to escalate things, or he might make a move on Dean. I’ll do my best to keep them apart. The less fighting, the less damage.” 

“Why?” Dean asked suddenly. “Why the sudden change of heart?” 

Gabriel paused before answering. When he did speak, he was sure to keep his tone light and sincere. “I happen to like mankind. You lot are full of surprises. You’re Father’s favorite for a reason.”

Then he disappeared from the backseat before the brothers could ask him any further questions. He did his best to put Dean’s expression out his mind. 

Because as depressing as it was, some times there were no happy endings.

*

Dean blinked. He was resting on the Impala’s hood, one leg bent and the other stretched out in front of him. The stars were bright overhead, stretching beyond the horizon. Dean let his head fall back, cheek resting against his baby’s cool metal. 

“I’m dreaming,” he announced aloud.

“Yes.” 

Dean didn’t startle this time. Instead he turned his head, examining Harry’s profile. 

“You’re pint sized again.” 

“I don’t have much time,” Harry said, his voice rough and exhausted. 

“It’s true then. You can take over?” 

“Angels,” Harry sighed. “So arrogant. Worse than demons really.” 

“Harry,” Dean said firmly. 

“Yeah,” Harry said, finally turning to look at Dean directly. “I can take over. Not for long.”

“How?” 

“I’ve always been good at being obstinate,” Harry said flatly. “Pestilence will be in Davenport Iowa. He’s stationed in a convalescent home there.” 

“How do you know?” 

“One of the few perks of being a meatsuit.”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, for the first time feeling and owning up to the ache that bloomed in his chest. “Shit kid,” he said, the words squeezed through the tightness in his throat. 

Harry raised his eyebrows, lips pressing together as he tried not to smile. “So you’ve said.” Dean wordlessly shook his head, running a hand across his mouth. 

“Be careful in your dealings with Death,” Harry said. “Don’t do anything stupid, like try and threaten him.” 

“How do I get the ring from him?” 

“Carefully,” Harry said, and this time he didn’t bother to hide his smile. 

Dean reached out and ruffled the kid’s hair, sending his long bangs flying in every direction. Harry hissed and ducked away, flattening his fringe over his forehead. He glowered up at Dean from between his fingers and Dean grinned shamelessly back. A thought later, Dean’s grin faltered and he gave into the urge to reach forward. He gripped one of Harry’s thin shoulders, exhaling gratefully when he found the kid solid and slightly warm under his hand. 

“I wanted to give you a break,” Dean said lowly. Harry tilted his head to the side, calm if slightly confused. “You should have let me protect you.” 

“No one’s protected me before.” The words were said simply, innocently, like the kid Harry so resembled. 

“I know kid,” Dean said lowly. “But they should have.” 

Harry obviously did not know what to say, and he struggled for a moment. He shook his head, “You can’t save me,” he said firmly. “You can’t say yes. It won’t matter anyway; it’s too late for me. You can’t let Sam say yes either. Dean, you can’t.” 

Dean stared at Harry for a moment; finally, he nodded. “I won’t,” he promised. “We’ll figure out a way to help you.” 

Harry shook his head, but Dean was insistent. He cupped the back of Harry’s head, staring into those wide eyes with upmost seriousness.

“I will find away to save you. We’ve all done enough sacrificing, I think.” 

Harry looked more than a little overwhelmed. “Once Lucifer is back in hell, there’s no reason for Michael to stay out of heaven. Everyone should be safe then,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “Everyone.” 

Harry floundered for a moment, his stoicism stripped away. Dean smoothed Harry’s fringe back from his eyes, the first time that he had done so with Harry aware enough to notice. The boy blinked up at him, looking confused but also slightly comforted by the action. 

“I’ll fix this,” he swore. 

Any further conversation was ended by the sudden widening of Harry’s eyes. “I have to go,” he said hurriedly. “Be careful of Death,” he warned again. 

And Dean opened his eyes, jerking slightly before he forced himself to relax. Sam looked up from where he’d set up his laptop at the small table by the window. 

“You okay?” he asked carefully. 

Dean turned onto his back, staring up the smoke stained ceiling. “Fine,” he said shortly. “We’re heading to Iowa.” 

“Iowa? Why?”

“I have it on good authority, we’ll find one of the horsemen there.”

*

“How?” Michael hissed into his reflection. “How are you doing this?” 

The boy stared back at him, eyes dull and face expressionless. Michael could still feel him, his emotions and thoughts churning on the very edge of Michael’s perception. But Michael could not understand them. They slipped through his mental fingers, leaving behind incomprehensible tendrils of sensation. Any attempt to dig into the boy’s memories was soundly thwarted barely after Michael began. He was half temped to abandon the boy and use the youngest Winchester brother, but the effort that it would take to return heaven, meant that he could not immediately return to an earthbound vessel, especially a flawed one.

He would make due. 

He would follow orders. 

Nothing would stop him.


	4. Chapter 4

The high gods, clothed and crowned with patience,

Endure through days of deathlike date;

They bear the witness of things hidden;

Before their eyes all life stands chidden,

As they before the eyes of Fate.

-Swinebourne "Ilicet" Lines 134-138

*

Quite overnight, Dean reverted from the depressed sullen silence he'd fallen into, to the driven man that Sam was more familiar with. They had a plan, and as long as they had a plan they could move forward. The drive to Iowa was full of half formed ideas, but one thought remained prevalent in Sam. It niggled insistently, even when Sam was trying to gather intel on Pestilence. It came to the point where Sam could think of little else.

And Dean. Dean had to have known what Sam was thinking. He always knew what Sam was thinking. It made the silences heavy, but Dean seemed unaffected, sunk deep in the drive to make this right. It finally got to the point where Sam couldn't deal anymore.

"Dean," he began hesitantly.

Dean lifted his eyebrows and glanced at Sam out of the corner of his eye. "What?"

"Gabriel said that Harry was able to-."

"No," Dean interrupted.

"But-."

"No."

Sam leaned back violently in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared out the window. It was his fall-to tactic. It had worked well on John, who had found Sam's angry silence irritating. Even as a kid, Dean had been able to boast a infinite amount of patience when it came to his brother, and he'd gleaned at least a little satisfaction from letting Sam stew in his own passive aggressive juices. Now was no different. Dean was content to sit in his silence, Sam knew that.

But Sam was done with that.

"Look Dean, we need to talk about this."

"Don't see why. It ain't happening."

"Even with Harry's help, what are the the chances of getting the devil to hop back into his cage? It would just take a moment, one instant of control."

There was a screech of tires as Dean violently pulled the car over onto the shoulder. Sam braced himself against the dashboard and the passenger side door, eyes wide. Before they were even stopped Dean was turning in his seat.

"I will not let you do this." Sam opened his mouth to speak. Dean didn't let him. "You don't get it. I already screwed the pooch with Harry. I won't let you do this to yourself."

"Is it because you think I'm weak? Weaker than Harry?"

Dean rolled his eyes and touched his head to the steering wheel for a moment before lifting it again.

"Are we going to do this?" Dean asked without looking. "Are we really going to do this right now?"

Sam clenched his jaw and nodded. "Look man. I don't know what it is about him, but he's not…he's not…"

"Were you about to say human?" Dean asked, lips twisted into what could have been a smile if there'd been even a tiniest bit of warmth in it.

Sam looked away for a moment. "I'm sorry Dean, but -."

"But what?" Dean asked and his voice was velvet smooth. "Are you planning on whipping it out and spraying me with it? We're brothers." And the way Dean said it that time was the same way other people said 'I-love-you.' And Sam understood what Dean was trying to say. Ordinarily, Sam would have basked in that; wrestling those sentiments out of his brother was no easy task. Sam gave a minute shake of his head, refusing to be distracted.

Dean plowed on, "We've got a job to do. Not only can Harry help with that, but we don't leave people behind if we can help it. Or is that not true anymore?"

Feeling very small, Sam nodded. "Yeah. It's true."

Dean sat back, expression just this side of satisfied.

"But you still think I'm weak?"

Dean clenched his jaw for a moment, and that was all the answer that Sam needed.

"You're right," Sam admitted softly. "But what are our other options?"

"We get the rings, open the cage, and Harry tosses Lucifer back in."

The jealously was still a very real thing, muted but present. Sam tossed it away, because Dean had made it clear that this wasn't about that. Dean narrowed his eyes, most likely seeing what Sam so desperately tried to hide. The satisfaction that had been there was gone, evaporated as Dean realized that his words hadn't had any affect. And Sam felt even more guilty, because he didn't know why this was such a big deal. Dean was ready to move on, and only looked disappointed for a moment before that expression was also wiped away.

Sam followed his brother's lead, because he was quite done with putting his foot in his mouth. "You really want to count on Harry for that?" Or not.

"Don't have a choice, do I?"

"You do," Sam countered, leaning forward slightly and desperate to talk about what they really needed to talk about. "Dean I can-."

"Sam," Dean said, and he sounded exhausted. "I'm done throwing our lives at this shit, thinking that that'll see it done. It hasn't so far. Don't you get it?" Dean asked, and there was a rarely heard note of desperation in his voice. "There's got to be another way."

"You were going to do it," Sam reminded him. "The only reason you didn't was because Harry beat you to it."

"Yeah," Dean said simply. "It always sucks for the people you leave behind."

Dean's phone rang, but he stared at Sam pointedly for a beat before reaching into his pocket.

"Hello?" Dean's eyes widened. "Cas?"

Sam's head whipped around and he sat up straight. "Is he okay?"

"Where are you? We thought you were dead."

Sam listened to the one sided conversation, growing more and more worried as he pieced together what was going on.

"Well don't worry. Bobby will wire you some money," Dean said a few minutes later. "Uh…It's okay Cas. Seriously…" Dean rolled his eyes. "Thank you. I appreciate that," he said flatly.

He hung up, shaking his head. Sam was quiet as Dean pulled back onto the road, lost in his own thoughts. They drove in silence for a few more minutes.

"Hello boys."

Sam spared a moment to think mournfully of the Impala's tires, but then he was spinning in his seat, stabbing Ruby's knife into the upholstery.

"Did you get him?" Dean snapped.

"He's gone."

There was a knock on the window, and Sam clenched his jaw at the sight of Crowley's smug face. He and his brother exited the car, penning the demon in.

"I'm here to talk," Crowley said, hands in the air.

"Talk?" Sam parroted. "After what you did to us?"

"Did to you? I gave you the Colt!"

"Yeah and you knew that it wouldn't work against the devil. We lost people on that mission. Good people!"

Sam stabbed, but Crowley had disappeared and reappeared behind him. His hands were still raised, but his expression was quickly growing more and annoyed. Sam didn't care.

"Call off your dog," Crowley demanded.

Dean snagged the arm of Sam's coat between his fingers. Sam easily could have pulled free; he seriously considered it. Dean shot him a quelling look, a throwback to their childhood before Sam had understood, and it had been necessary for Dean to say shut-the-hell-up without actually saying it. Sam subsided, thoughts of Jo and Ellen prevalent, but his rage quelled.

"Give me one good reason," Dean demanded.

"I can give you Pestilence."

Dean snorted, "That train's already left the station. Try again."

Crowley frowned, glancing between the brothers in confusion. "How do you know?"

"We have our sources."

Crowley stepped back, frown deepening. The expression disappeared and he breathed out a quiet, "Ahh…"

"What?" Sam barked.

"So it's true," Crowley said musingly. "Michael's vessel can slip its leash."

Sam was sure to give nothing away. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Dean remained equally unmoved. Crowley didn't let that stop him. He sunk his hands into his slack pockets, leaning back to take in both brothers with a little smile stretching his lips.

"So you know where you're going. That's good. What about the other horseman, Death? Do you know where he is?"

"We're working one horseman at a time," Dean quipped.

"Then I suppose I don't have anything to offer you," Crowley said, head tipped innocently up at the dark sky. "Question though. Have you figured out what to do about Michael after you toss his brother into the fiery depths."

"He'll go back to heaven," Dean said decisively. Crowley's eyebrows shot up and he smirked. "Why wouldn't he go back to heaven?" Dean growled. "His work will be done. Everything will be finished."

"Oh-ho. Not so I'm afraid," Crowley said. "Those angels want an excuse to wipe the world clean. Our daddy dearest is a great excuse. However," Crowely drawled out. "What makes you think that the feather bastards won't just come up with something new? The angels are just as much of a problem as the devil. They'll strike the whole slate clean, bugger all us bastards living on it."

"So what?" Dean asked, and there was no way to mishear the exhaustion threaded in his tone.

"So. Maybe I know a way to make sure that Big Brother Michael is put out of the picture."

Dean turned his head away, silent for a long moment. Then he moved to get back into the car, without saying anything. Crowley stared at him, surprised, and then he glanced at Sam. Sam glowered at him for a moment before following his brother's lead.

"You okay man?"

Dean shook his head and started the car.

"Look, I know that you may not want to hear it," Crowley said from the back seat. "Everyone knows that you're attached to the meatsuit that Michael is flopping around in, but leaving Michael free is only dealing with half the problem."

"Unless you know a way to pull the angel out without hurting Harry, I don't have anything to say to you," Dean snarked.

Crowley sighed explosively. "Let's say I do know a way."

"He misspoke," Sam said sharply. "We won't trust anything you say to us anyway."

But Dean had turned in his seat to examine Crowley. "How?"

Crowley pressed his lips together and tipped his head to the side. "I don't know exactly, but I know how to find out."

Dean scoffed and settled back into his seat. He reached for the gearshift but stopped, his head bowed. Sam stared at the side of his face, waiting, halfway knowing what was about to happen and despairing in it.

Crowley sensed it too, and leaned forward. "Come with me?"

Dean only hesitated a moment more before nodding, throwing the car into drive and pulling back onto the road.

*

"Here we are," Crowley announced bleakly. "How the mighty have fallen. Single pane glass. Used contraceptive in the fireplace. The water damage alone -."

"Stop stalling," Dean barked and it was sudden enough that Sam nearly flinched in surprise.

Crowley paused for a moment, then shrugged. "You have to talk to Death."

Dean's eyebrows shot up, his expression beginning to close off. "There better be more you're not saying."

"Before you talk to him, you have to find him. I'm good at finding things. King of the Crossroads," he reminded them.

Dean narrowed his eyes, barely appeased, but quiet with it. Sam effortlessly stepped in, actually nudging his brother aside to give the older Winchester an excuse to turn away. "So where is he?" Sam asked.

"Doesn't work like that, I'm afraid," Crowley said.

Dean bristled but remained silent.

"I need a little boost the get the magic going," Crowley said meaningfully.

Sam glanced at Dean, seeing his confusion reflected in his brother's expression.

Crowley rocked back on his heels. "Well," he said, stretching the word out. "You're not doing to like it."

Sam reached out and latched onto his brother's wrist. "Just tell us."

"A soul," Crowley said shortly.

Sam's mouth gaped open for a moment, shock stealing his words. Dean laughed, and it was not a pleasant sound.

"Shit," he sighed, a darkly amused smile curling up the corners of his lips. He rapped his knuckles against Sam's chest, still giggling.

Sam had never been so unnerved by his brother before.

And in an instant murder was shining in Dean's eyes. He went for the knife, but Sam still had a grip on one of his wrists. Crowley danced out of the way, his palms up and his eyes wide.

"We're done with that," Dean snarled. "So you better have something else to say or I swear to god-."

"All right, all right," Crowley said hands still raised. "I can think up something else."

"Good," Dean hissed. "We're going for Pestilence, and then we'll be back for you."

Dean tugged himself free and stalked out of the house. Sam followed behind, not sure what to do with this hands.

*

Pestilence was exactly where Harry said he'd be.

Dean toyed with the ring they'd acquired, pushing it across the surface of Bobby's desk.

"So what now?" Sam asked quietly. "Do we go back to Crowley?"

Bobby shifted in his chair, but remained silent.

"Yeah. I guess," Dean said flatly. He continued to toy with the ring.

Bobby heaved a sigh and rolled forward, snatching the ring away from Dean's fidgeting fingers.

"We should be celebrating," he grumbled. "We hit a home run for once."

"We're a bit worried," Sam admitted. "Pestilence's last words were, 'it's too late.'"

"Well that's specific," Bobby snarked. "He say anything else?"

"No."

"We're a bit worried that he left a bomb somewhere. So please tell us you have good news," Dean said.

Bobby hesitated for a moment. Then, "Chicago is about to be wiped off the map. Storm of the millennium. Three million people are going to die."

Silence fell for a long pregnant moment.

"I don't understand your definition of good news," Castiel said honestly.

"Death is going to be there. If we can snatch his ring…" Bobby trailed off.

Dean sat up and narrowed his eyes. "How did you put all this together?"

Bobby instantly looked shifty eyed. He removed his hat, smoothed his hair down and jammed it back onto his head. "I had some help."

"Oh come now. I barely did anything at all."

Dean immediately turned his head away, hands clenched into fists on the desktop. Sam was asking questions, but Dean already had his answers.

"Give it back," he said, his voice cutting through to the heart of the conversation. There was a beat as Sam processed - a sharp angry inhale when he understood.

"I can't," Crowley said with a little shrug.

"You can," Dean snapped. "And you will."

"I need it," Crowley admitted. "It's the only thing standing between me and my bloody death at your hands."

"You son of a bitch," Bobby hissed.

"Yes, yes," Crowley said, waving his hand dismissively. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a newspaper.

He revealed what he knew about Pestilence's last words, and it became clear that this was a time to divide and conquer. In the frantic activity that followed, Crowley also revealed that Bobby had regained the use of his legs. Which was…yeah. Maybe the bastard wasn't completely evil. Cas was floundering, struggling with his new humanity. Dean noticed distantly but his thoughts were quite firmly elsewhere. Sam obviously wanted to talk, but Dean knew what he wanted to say. Instead they separated without saying much of anything at all.

The drive to Chicago was quiet. Dean simply put on his music and lost himself to the road. His thoughts were on what he about to do, or more specifically what he was about to meet.

*

"Thanks for returning that. Join me, Dean. The pizza is delicious. Sit down. Took you long enough to find me. I've been wanting to talk to you, about a number of things really."

Dean's fear was a real thing, but he did his best to put it aside.

"I'm not sure how I feel about that, really," Dean said and his voice was shaking just the tiniest bit. "Are you going to kill me?"

Death's eyes were old, fathomless. For a moment Dean wasn't sure what he was looking at. For a moment Death had no face, and Dean jerked, going for a weapon. Then things snapped back to what they were before.

Death's smile was fleeting. "Allow me to explain something to you Dean." He carefully placed his silverware down on his plate, rubbing his fingers on the cloth napkin at his elbow. "I am very old, and more powerful than someone like you could ever hope to understand. This is one tiny planet, in one solar system in a galaxy barely out of its diapers. So please try to imagine how utterly insignificant I find you. No offense," Death added and took a long drink from his glass of soda.

"What about Harry?" Dean blurted before he could stop himself.

Death stilled, slightly wrinkled hands hovering over his utensils for a moment before he sat back in his chair. For the first time he seemed engaged in the conversation. The sensation his attention invoked was familiar, and it wasn't much for a stretch to puzzle out why.

"Harry James Potter," Death said musingly. He paused, regarding Dean silently for a moment. "I shouldn't be surprised that you two managed to find each other."

Dean swallowed, hesitant but determined. "What do you mean?"

"What do you think would have happened, had you never met Harry?" Death asked very deliberately eating another piece of pizza.

Dean floundered for a moment, and then shrugged.

"Consider this," Death instructed. "In a different time and place, Azazel never offered Harry Potter a deal to end the war with Voldemort. Harry Potter never went to hell. He never became a Reaper. You never met him. Instead Michael uses your half brother Adam as his vessel. The only option you and your brother conceive to destroy Lucifer is for Samuel to except Lucifer's offer, and throw himself into hell."

Dean sat there, eyes wide and speechless.

"You have already lost a loved one to that fate," Death said idly, ignoring Dean's abortive choke. "You will now allow your brother to sacrifice himself. So now, we must find another option."

"What do you want from me," Dean asked helplessly.

Death shook his head. "There is nothing that you can do. You're insignificant, remember?"

"Then what?"

Death paused again, focusing on his pizza for a few long moments. "Michael is as arrogant as his brother," he finally said. "Harry will finish things, and he will do it on his terms. He has always been profoundly stubborn."

"Who…What is he?" Dean asked, unable to contain himself any longer.

Death finished off his soda, staring into Dean's eyes for a long uncomfortable moment. "This time he is a descendant of Seth, both of a mortal mother and father. Just as you were. Just as your brother was. Without revealing overmuch," Death said idly. "He is an instrument of fate, marked by me, as you are marked by God."

"But what does that mean?" Dean asked, desperate to know, wanting the ultimate answer for not just his suffering, but his entire family's. For Harry's. "Why us? Why?"

"Because you are able," Death answered simply. "Because you must."

Dean sat back, dumbly shaking his head.

"Oh come now. You've only got to prevent the apocalypse."

"How?" Dean asked tiredly.

"Ah, well unfortunately you're going to have to go about it the hard way. But Lucifer must be stopped. He thinks that he can control me." The anger in his eyes was very very real, and extremely terrifying. "He has me bound to him. I want my leash – off."

"And I can unbind you?"

Death indulgently shook his head. "Not you, Dean. Not you."

It only took a moment for Dean to catch on to Death's meaning. "Oh," he said weakly.

"You and your brother are divergent. Do you understand what that means?"

Immediately, Dean bristled. His ire rose and he prepared to fight the same way he had always fought for his brother, because Death might be Death, but Dean fucking loved his brother.

"It does not mean that the bond you share is defective, or that you cannot care for each other," Death said idly without looking up from his food. "All it means is that there will always be conflict. It is true now; it has always been true. You're connected, and opposed. You and Harry are parallel. Existing next to each other. You follow the same path, yet exist in different plane." Death glanced up at him, seemingly making sure that Dean was following. Dean was, barely. "So make him hear you," Death concluded imperiously. He pulled off his ring and put it on the table. "You cannot fail."

Dean's eyes were on the ring, but his thoughts were whirling. He had thought that this encounter would clarify things, but it had only muddied them.

"Dean," Death said sharply, and Dean jerked his gaze up. He instantly berated himself for letting down his guard. Death pushed the ring forward and watched intently as Dean carefully picked it up. "Now, would you like the instruction manual?"

*

Dean recognized this lake. They had spent a whole summer here once, with Dad laid up with a badly broken leg. Dean had been 14, or maybe 15. Brewer's Lake, North Dakota.

The water was just this side of cold, just like he remembered it. Dean dug his bare toes into the sand and breathed deeply.

"You met with Death?"

Dean glanced at Harry over his shoulder and motioned him closer. "C'here kid."

Harry moved closer, but was eyeing the water with a bit of distaste. There was nothing funny about it. This no time for bonding, or lightheartedness. Dean grinned anyway, and tugged at Harry's sleeve until he was parked on the patch of sand next to Dean. For a moment it was very clear that Harry had no idea what to do with him. Then that very impressive poker face shielded his thoughts.

"You met with Death?" he asked again.

"Yeah," Dean said simply. "We met." He reached out, cupping his hand around the back of Harry's head. "I'm sorry," he said wretchedly. "I wanted to make sure…" His voice failed him for a moment. "I wanted to make sure I that said sorry and that you need to trust me."

"Dean? What-?"

Dean released him and clambered to his feet. He tore himself from the dream, unsurprised that Bobby and Sam were in Bobby's office, trying very hard to look like they weren't waiting for him to wake up.

His eyes were dry and itchy. He cleared his throat. "C'mon," he said roughly.

Sam and Bobby were wise enough not to say anything. Dean slid behind the wheel of this car, nodding absently when Bobby said that he'd follow. The older man's nervousness was palpable. He wanted to protest; he'd opened his mouth to do so when Dean had returned from his meeting with Death, all four ring in hand and a crazy plan circling his thoughts. But Bobby had lost the right to deter him from this. He'd thrown it bodily out the window when he'd sold himself to Crowley. So instead Bobby just shook his head, pleading with his eyes. Castiel had nothing encouraging to say, and so he said nothing. It was fine; Dean had little to say to him.

Sam was fidgeting, nearly vibrating in his seat.

"Dean, are you sure about this?"

Sam had asked that question many times. Each time Dean had answered the same way.

"We don't really have a choice here."

When asked, Death hadn't had much to say about where this needed to go down. He'd only looked at Dean and said, "You'll know where."

Dean had a good idea. So they drove, headed east out of South Dakota, through Iowa and Illinois.

He found the field with little trouble and he could tell just by looking that Sam had no idea where they were. But that was fine, because they weren't here for him.

"Don't interfere," Dean reminded them. "Let me handle it."

Sam's face was thunderous. Bobby just looked hopeless. Dean moved a few paces away from where they'd parked the cars, staring up at the night sky. It had been about a year since that night.

Dean took a deep breath, and prayed.

"Michael, I know you can hear me. I'm ready to end things. This has been going on long enough."

Dean took another deep breath and waited.

"Dean," Michael greeted appearing off to the side.

Dean had to physically swallow his reaction when he saw what was happening to Harry's body. It seemed that he was suffering faster than Lucifer's host was. Ugly, peeling burns were creeping across the right side of his face down his neck to disappear under his shirt collar.

"Dean," Michael said again, expression open and earnest the same way Zachariah's had been.

"Before I agree to anything, I need to talk to Harry."

Michael paused, expression going coldly angry for a moment before it reverted to the detached benevolence of before.

"Harry's not here right now," Michael said mockingly.

"I know you can hear me kid," Dean said. He raised his hands and moved closer, staring into Harry's eyes and trying to see past the angel possessing him. "We can't win this war without you. I need you to talk to me, because if you don't I'm going to say 'yes.' I swear to god I will."

Dean was looking for it, so he saw Harry's face twitch, an expression that was equal parts terrified and exasperated twisting his features before it was replaced by a truly impressive scowl.

"No," Michael hissed, pressing a fist to his temple. "No you pathetic-."

"C'mon Harry," Dean entreated. "Are you really going to let this asshole use me as a condom?"

The flicker lasted longer this time, and was companied by a full body shudder. Michael snarled and threw himself at Dean, wrapping one of Harry's hands around his throat and bearing him to the ground. Michael brought up his other fist but Dean was able to catch it before it made contact. He brought his elbow up, smashing it into Harry's temple. Harry's grip faltered but he didn't let go.

"Are you going to let him hurt me Harry?" Dean wheezed.

"Be quiet," Harry hissed.

"Don't let him. Don't-." Harry's next punched landed, splitting his bottom lip. "Harry, don't-."

Harry's face twitched, and he finally regained enough control to release Dean and throw himself away. Dean didn't let him go far. He pounced, pinning Harry down and staring intensely into his eyes.

"C'mon Little Man," he said, and the twisted snarl was all Harry. The dry sobbing keen was him as well. Desperation in its purest form. "Harry-."

"NO!" Michael shouted.

He bucked, throwing Dean off and tried to crawl away. Again, Dean didn't let him. Harry kicked out and Dean felt one of his ribs give, but still he didn't let go.

"Fuck," Harry gasped.

"You can't do this," Michael snarled. "No!"

Dean reached out and grasped one of those thin arms, jerking it up and pinning Harry down against the grass. Harry, or Michael, began to slam his head against the ground. Dean switched grips, calling upon every childhood wrestling match he'd had with his brother, and flipped them – chest to back.

Michael's head came back, smashing into Dean's nose, and he threw himself away again. Dean laid there, dazed, but he was still aware enough to throw a hand out towards Bobby and Sam when he sensed them coming near.

"Don't," he gurgled, and painfully climbed to his feet.

Harry threw himself forward, landing a right hook to Dean's temple, and following through with his elbow. He threaded his fingers in Dean's hair and brought his knee up, but Dean brought his hands between, cushioning the blow and tearing his head away from Harry's clutching fingers.

Michael stood there, chest heaving just slightly, and shook a few strands of Dean's hair free from his off hand.

"What is the point of this?" Michael asked, and his confusion seemed genuine. "What you're trying to do is impossible. I will destroy all evil, for all time. I will create paradise on earth. For you, for everyone."

"We don't need your paradise," Dean wheezed.

He didn't hold back, and his next punched dropped Harry to the ground at Dean's feet. Dean knew very clearly that Michael was fighting this battle on two fronts, and this was the reason he was faring this well at all. Michael could have easily incapacitated Dean without even touching him. But Harry was fighting, and Dean could see it in every aborted twitch of Harry's body, could feel it in every pulled punch.

"Kill me," Harry said. "Dean, just kill me."

"No," Dean said shortly, and pulled Harry to his feet by his shirt collar. The younger man was swaying, so Dean stayed close.

Michael halfhearted slapped at Dean's face, but the hunter easily caught his hand and held it to the side. Michael twisted his hand free and drew his fist back.

Harry stopped, his knuckles inches from Dean's bloodied nose. There was no trace of Michael in his face. He was all Harry.

And he looked pissed.

"You idiot," he hissed, his voice weakening. "You complete…"

He slumped, eyes rolling up and knees buckling. Dean quickly wrapped a hand around Harry's waist, ducking under one of the man's arms.

"You with me?" he asked gruffly.

"Idiot. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me."

"No," Dean said gruffly and began to drag Harry toward the Impala.

Bobby and Sam seemed hesitant but followed Dean's cues, helping them load Harry into the back seat of the Impala. Castiel kept his distance, leaning against Bobby's truck with his arms folded.

"We'll head back to your place, " Dean half asked. Bobby hesitated for a moment, but nodded his consent.

Dean ducked behind the wheel. Sam quickly got into the car as well, glancing at Harry's shaking body in the back seat.

"Dean," he said gruffly.

"I know," Dean snapped. "Harry what can we do to help?"

"Just kill me!" Harry gasped, beginning to pound his head against the upholstery.

"Something other than that?" Dean entreated.

There was nothing but the sound of Harry's heavy breathing and then he gasped, "Distract…" before his voice broke off and he buried his face in his arms.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, before looking toward the tape deck. Sam raised his eyebrows, and Dean shrugged. A moment later Zeppelin's "Black Dog" was blasting through the car.

Dean relaxed as Harry relaxed. And Sam relaxed as his brother relaxed.

The ride back to Sioux Falls was full of music. Harry didn't say a word. Every once and a while he would thrash briefly before laying still again, and Dean wondered if the kid was actually any better off.

Only time would tell on that one.


	5. Chapter 5

**Witness to Hidden Things**

Summary: Harry will not let Dean go quietly into the night. Dean won’t let Harry go either. Part 2 in the Human‘Verse. No Slash.

 

The high gods, clothed and crowned with patience,

Endure through days of deathlike date;

They bear the witness of things hidden;

Before their eyes all life stands chidden,

As they before the eyes of Fate.

-Swinebourne “Ilicet” Lines 134-138

Chapter 5: 

He figured that he should be used to it by now, but every time the shit hit the fan there were always those several moments where he needed to sit back and process. He was alone now, Sam combing endlessly through the library as if he could find the all the answers he sought through dogged enthusiasm. Dean was sitting outside the panic room, speaking to their newest cluster-fuck through the door. And the angel was…wherever. So Bobby went out and disappeared into the yard, a six-pack in hand. He sat down on one of the benches in the detached garage, turned to regard his house, and he _processed_. 

It was the end of the world and they all freaking knew it, and he also knew that they simply didn’t have the time for this. Drama, it dragged along on those boy’s laces. He supposed that he should be used to it by now, but he wasn’t sure what to do with this. It was out of his hands, out of his experience. It rankled. It had been worse when he’d been stuck in the chair, unable to even maneuver around the entirety of his house. This was better, but still intolerable. 

He didn’t know what to do. The time for research and contacts was over, and that had always been Bobby’s go to.   

There were footsteps and Bobby turned to regard Castiel with a furrowed brow. 

“Wondered where you’d gotten off to,” he greeted. He hesitated for a moment and then offered Cas one of his beers.

The angel (or ex-angel, whatever) regarded him silently for a moment before joining him on the bench, taking the bottle from Bobby and deftly twisting it open.

“I was attempting to confer with my brothers and sisters.” The rest, _they didn’t answer_ , remained unsaid.

Bobby sighed, straightening his cap restlessly. The angel didn’t seem interested in being consoled, something that Bobby was endlessly thankful for. Instead they sat side by side, making their way through the pack of beer until there was only one left. Bobby eyed Castiel and wordlessly offered it over. The angel had drunk it down to the label before he finally spoke.

“I’m unsure what to do,” he admitted quietly.

“You and me both,” Bobby said. 

“I have never been so without purpose,” Castiel said. Bobby sighed quietly and fiddled restlessly with his empty bottle. “I cannot help but wonder why Dean seems so invested in the concept of free will. What do you do when you don’t know what to do?”

“It ain’t easy,” Bobby said honestly. “We muddle through things, and we make mistakes. But that’s part of being human. It sucks, but we make due.”

“That sounds extremely depressing.”

“Welcome aboard,” was Bobby’s dry rejoinder.

They fell back into silence, but Bobby had questions. The humanized angel was just tipsy enough to be talkative.

“What do you know about Harry? 

“It is unprecedented,” Castiel said without hesitation. “There is enough of the Lord’s Grace inside me that I recognize one of my brothers. He is Michael, but he is also Harry Potter. Death still halos him.”

“All that huh?”

“Yes.”

“Is he gonna be okay?”

Castiel paused, looking towards the house. “The essence of an archangel is very powerful. We’ve seen the effects on both Lucifer’s vessel and Harry Potter, but what we see is just what happens to the physical body. An archangel’s grace burns, not just the body, but the soul. The vessel sometimes survives, but there is damage. There is always damage.”

Bobby mulled that over for a moment, frowning up at the sky. “You didn’t answer my question,” he observed gruffly. 

Castiel huffed irritably through his nose. “You haven’t seemed overly concerned for him before now,” Castiel said.

“He’s a kid, and I’m not sure he deserves to suffer as much as he has,” Bobby said, and groped absently at his pocket for his flask.

He shook his head at himself because he couldn’t afford to get stupid right now, but also because the statement, while somewhat true, didn’t accurately express why he had sought whatever answers Castiel had. He debated for a moment whether or not he wanted to emote anymore and then decided that there was no point in going half in at this point.

“I ain’t just asking for me.”

Castiel didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “He is unusually attached.”

“Not that unusual,” Bobby sighed. “That boy has always been soft hearted.”

Castiel sighed. “That is true.”

He’d said it firmly, his knowledge absolute. A screen door slammed, and Sam appeared on the porch. Bobby watched him scan the yard, spot them, and then trot over. The kid eyed the empty beer bottles on the ground but said nothing of it, making himself comfortable on the other bench.

“Any luck?” Bobby asked, already pretty sure of the answer. 

As expected, Sam shook his head, running one of those huge hands through his hair. “There’s nothing. No mention of this ever happening before. We’re completely off the map.”

“I could have told you that,” Castiel said. “I did tell you that.” 

“Excuse me for not taking your word for it,” Sam said snidely. “Dean asked me to look.” 

Castiel scoffed, rolling his eyes up at the darkened sky. Sam shared an exasperated look with Bobby and the three of them fell into a tense silence. It wouldn’t last long. Silences never lasted long when Sam was around. It was one of the many reasons Bobby preferred Dean’s company. No denying that Dean had an energy to him; when he needed it, he generated a momentum that swept anyone close by along with him. But there was a steadiness to him as well. He appreciated the calm between storms like no one else Bobby knew. He had no idea where the boy had learned it - definitely not from his father.

“So best case scenario, Harry is Harry again. Then what?”

Bobby just shrugged, having chased that thought many times and given up pinning it down for the moment.

Castiel, cheerful bastard that he was, made a point of saying, “Harry will never be himself again.”

Sam grew quiet, the sentiment enough to sober him and cement the silence.

* 

Dean ascended from the basement the next morning, moving like a man twice his age and his face carefully blank. 

Bobby glanced at him and pushed over a mug of coffee. Dean sent him a grateful nod and drank deeply, skillfully avoiding Sam and Castiel’s stares.

“Well?” Sam prompted.

“What?” Dean returned, eyebrows raised. 

Sam settled down in his chair and scowled. Dean pursed his lips, visibly warring with himself over what he should say.

“He’s not asking me to kill him anymore?” he offered weakly.

Bobby shook his head, unsure how to take that. Sam fell silent, brow furrowed as he stared at his brother’s face. Finally he sighed, sympathy tightening the skin around his eyes. “Look man, I’m sorry – you know I am – but we’re kinda on a deadline here.”

Dean’s face hardened and he took a pointed sip of coffee, stepping into the study and closing the pocket doors behind him. “Okay,” he said gruffly. “He’s lucid enough that he knows what’s going on. I’m not sure if he can use any of his mojo. He keeps passing out before I can ask.” Dean shrugged, trying and failing to hide his thoughts on that tidbit. “He’s done that shrinking thing again. Like when we were spirits.” Sam nodded at that, expression intent. “There haven’t been any signs of -.” Dean waved his free hand, unable to put Harry/Michael’s bipolar act into words, but managing to clearly convey his meaning. “When he wakes up I might try to shove some food in him.” 

There was a creak, the soft sounds of someone moving around in the kitchen. Bobby at once reached for the shotgun sitting on a nearby table, Sam reacting similarly across the room. Dean seemed unsurprised. Instead he reached for one for one of the pocket doors leading to the kitchen and pushed it aside. The sight of that kid rummaging around in his cabinets was familiar. He looked a few years younger than he had that last time Bobby had seen him. The skin on his face was raw, like a sunburn that had been left to fester.

“Couldn’t wait?” Dean asked.

“I haven’t had coffee in forever,” Harry replied.

Dean glanced at them before moving into the kitchen, wordlessly pouring the kid a cup of coffee. There was a tense silence as they all watched him drain the cup. When he surfaced he glanced over at them coolly, and offered the mug to Dean, eyeing the coffee left in the pot. Dean rolled his eyes but refilled the mug and passed it back. Harry finally entered the study, examining them wordlessly. His eyes lingered on Castiel, a frown crossing his face before it was wiped clean. Eventually he found a chair and sat, staring down at the rug between his socked feet.

When he looked up his expression was hard. “Here are our options,” he said gravely. “I can feel his grace inside me, it wants to…” He closed his eyes for a moment, brow furrowed. “Cleanse,” he finally settled on. “The angels would get their paradise. Lots of people would die.”

“Okay. Next?” Sam prompted after a brief pause.

“We use the rings, try to force Lucifer back into his cage. It won’t be easy. He doesn’t want to fight me directly. In the state his vessel is in, I’d trounce him right now. So he’ll want to draw this out as long as he can, and while he waits he’ll take the world down with him.”

“Great,” Bobby said gruffly. “How exactly do we get close enough to get him in the cage?” 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam raise his head. Harry’s eyes flicked over in Sam’s direction and the boy frowned.

“It could work.” Sam said firmly, and they all knew exactly what he was talking about.  

“No,” Dean said sharply.

“I’m not more important than the rest of the world Dean,” Sam said calmly. He turned back to Harry, who was regarding him evenly. “It could work,” he said again.

“No,” Harry said simply. “It will not.” Sam’s eyes narrowed, expression tightening. He opened his mouth but Harry raised a hand in the universal bid for silence. “You’re tainted.” Harry said quietly. “Your rage taints you. Lucifer will use it. All that you are, he will use to control you. He’s been doing it a long time.”

The kid closed his eyes and turned his face away. Sam had shrunk back in his chair, his shoulders hiked up towards his ears and his face shuttered. Dean was staring at him. He looked concerned, but he did not jump to his brother’s defense. 

It had remained unspoken until then, but it was something that they all knew. Sam took after John in a way that Dean didn’t. There was a brooding anger about him that had only increased as he’d gotten older. Perhaps the demon blood had made it worse. There was no way to know for sure. But here they were. Sam was looking up at Dean now, and they were doing that thing where they spoke without saying a word. Sam’s expression was vaguely pleading. Dean just looked tired.

Eventually Harry turned back, his face pensive. He looked to Castiel and examined him in silence for a moment before tilting his head to the side.

“We will bring the battle here,” he said.

Dean turned from his brother, raising his eyebrows at Harry in question.

“We will cut the legs out beneath him. When he becomes desperate, he will come to us.”

“You mean to take control of the Host,” Castiel breathed.

Harry got to his feet, his expression going hard. “I need to get in touch with Gabriel,” he said. For one of the first times Harry turned his attention onto Bobby. Those eyes had weight, for all that they sat in a such a young looking face. Bobby felt himself stiffening, hackles rising before he was even aware that he felt threatened. Harry merely tilted his head to the side. “You’re in touch with hunters.”

Bobby nodded. 

“Good. I need them. All of them.”

“That might be a bit hard. We’re not exactly the most social of people.”

Harry shook his head. “Try?”

Bobby rolled his eyes and moved toward his desk. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Bobby buried himself in his address book. When he glanced up a few minutes later, Sam was still sitting slumped in his chair, but Dean and Harry had left and Castiel was thumbing ideally through one the books on the couch. Sam shook his head, lips pressed tightly together.

“I can’t even sacrifice myself properly,” he said lowly.

Bobby hissed out a breath through his teeth, wondering when he’d become the group shrink. Sam turned to him, eyes glassy. 

“Can’t do anything right.”

“Stop that,” Bobby said sharply. “We got more important things to do than listen to your pity party.”

Sam slumped even more. Bobby rolled up a piece of paper, and tossed it at Sam’s head.

“Look,” he said, carefully gentling his voice. “You got anger in you kid. We all know that. But none of us are saints here. We’ve all gone things that we regret. But we don’t have time to cry about it now. Maybe later, if we’re all still alive.”

Sam sat for a moment, then vigorously ran his fingers through his hair and straightened. “Okay,” he said firmly. “Let me help.” 

*

Harry let the screen door swing shut behind him and perched himself on one of the steps leading up the to porch. Dean dithered for a moment before joining him. 

“War huh?”

“What can I say?” Harry said flatly. “I don’t do things by halves.”

Harry didn’t turn to look at him, but he sensed Dean fidgeting. It was obvious that the man had something to say. Harry, welcome for any distraction from his mudded thoughts, turned to stare at him. Dean glanced up from the packed earth between his knees. He seemed hesitant.

“What is it?” 

Dean sighed and said, “I spoke to Death.”

Harry frowned, struggling to remember why that mattered. Death tended to keep his distance from angels, though his reapers made their appearances when it was necessary. He had some sort of agreement with Father.

Wait.

No, that wasn’t him. James Potter was his father.

No.  Not since Hell. He had been unmade there, and had returned as _something else_. He was Harry Potter, wizard. No, Harry Potter, Master of Death.

_He was fire and light. Father’s best weapon. The faithful son._

NO! He was…

There was a hand on his shoulder. Big and warm and so-so-so real. There was someone making noise, a low, hissing sound.

He was…

“You’re Harry.”

He opened his eyes and turned his head. The sounds had tapered off. And yes that made sense.

Dean was sitting next to him, his expression warily concerned. Dean was…

_Mine! Carefully crafted over years and years and years. The instrument. The means to fulfilling his Father’s last commandment._

_Dean was…_

His friend. Dean was his friend. Dean was safety. Dean understood.

“What did Death say?” he rasped, and Dean’s eyebrows shot up.

“What?”

Harry cleared his throat, shifting a little uncomfortably under the hand on his shoulder. He didn’t shrug it off. Instead he let it ground him. Because he was Harry, and right now he had a job to do.

“You said that you spoke to Death. What did he say?”

Dean stared into his face for a long moment. He understood. Dean understood; Harry could see it.

“A lot of things,” Dean finally said. “Some of it didn’t make sense. Some of it I didn’t understand. He said that we were parallel.”

Harry did his best to take that in. “What else?”

“You’re a descendant of Seth. Gabriel mentioned that too.”

“Seth,” Harry said musingly. “The third son. The spare.”

Dean looked unsettled but nodded.

“That makes you uncomfortable,” Harry said in realization.

That only made Dean’s face twist up further. His fingers tightened on Harry’s shoulder for a moment before falling away so he could massage his neck.

“Yeah,” he admitted gruffly. “It does. I don’t like the angels. Never have. They use us just like the demons do. But at least the demons don’t pretend like they’re doing us a favor.”

It took a moment to arrange the words correctly – he was Harry, not Michael – but eventually Harry quietly said, “I don’t mind it. It seems stupid to be upset about it now.”

Dean sighed, long and heavy. “Don’t tell me that you’re giving up.”

Harry felt his shoulders and spine straighten. His heart hardening at the mere thought of doing nothing. He frowned, pausing to examine the notion carefully. Perhaps he could give up. He’d suffered for so long. Even then, if he wasn’t careful, the memories threatened to rise up in an overwhelm wave. Death, even though it had arrived at an inconvenient time, had been welcomed.

Harry knew that if he let himself stop, allowed himself to slow down and actually consider the relatively short years of his life, it would break him. Even the thought of what was expected of him now, was astronomically overwhelming.

“I want to,” he said quietly. He turned his head away, unwilling to look at Dean in the wake of his admission. “I’m so tired, Dean.”

There was a long silence. Harry didn’t turn his head, couldn’t. Finally he heard Dean sigh. “One way or another, it’ll end,” he said honestly.

Hilarity bubbled up, and Harry found himself smiling. “Yes,” he said happily. “It will, won’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Harry glanced up at Dean through his eyelashes, and saw that Dean was staring out at the auto yard like it held all the answers. Harry turned his attention to the sky, thinking that he might find his answers there.

“But it can be good too,” Dean said gruffly. “Life is more than suffering. It can be good.”

Harry felt Dean’s fingers brush against his hair, and he closed his eyes. His inaction must have been a sign, because Dean’s hand, large and warm, cupped his neck. He was drawn in, his forehead pressed into the soft material of Dean’s shirt. It wasn’t new, this position. Dean had done this before, surrounded him in safe protective warmth.

He remembered others, before he’d descended. The memories were present, if dull. He must have found comfort there, but even if he had, he could not remember. His years as Master of Death had passed without much touch. Dean had showed no such compunctions. He touched Harry, offered comfort freely.

And Harry took, because he was simply unable to resist doing so.

He closed his eyes, chaotic thoughts calming for a moment.

“What are you doing to me, kid?”

Harry had no answer to that, so he remained silent.

“I’m going to show you,” Dean said firmly, his fingers pressing Harry closer. “There is more to the world than suffering. We’ll get through this, and then I’ll show you. There’s this place, a little shop in Michigan, near Richmond. They make the best cherry pie I’ve ever had. It’s like award winning. That’ll be the first stop on our we-survived-the-freaking-apocalypse roadtrip.”

Harry sighed, relaxing further.

“Have you been to the grand canyon?”

Harry shook his head.

“We’ll go. I’ll let you take one of those donkeys down. I won’t do it because no fucking way, but you can do it. It’ll be epic. We’ll go to the Niagara Falls. I’ll take you to Chicago, we’ll go to that Bean thing, and have pizza.”

Dean continued, but Harry didn’t hear it. There were things to do, but exhaustion called. Dean was here. He could rest for a moment.     

*

Harry woke ravenous, and Sam was treated with the sight of his elder brother desperately trying to put together a meal with the contents of Bobby’s fridge. It brought back memories, some of them fond, some of them not. Dean was passable cook by necessity, and managed to put something together.

Harry looked very much his age as he tucked himself into one of Bobby’s armchairs, bowl tucked in closely to his chest. He bid Castiel to speak of the Host, and then sat back and listened. Castiel spoke of the 3 archangels, Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, and the angel Lucifer, who had once been an archangel but was one no longer. He spoke of the garrisons, listed troop numbers and allocations off the top of his head like he was reading from a list.

Harry was supposed to be Michael so it was likely that he knew or at least was aware of everything Castiel spoke of. Even so, he quietly absorbed the words, interrupting only to ask a rare question. Bobby was actually taking notes.

Dean was watching from the kitchen, arms folded and expression grim. Sam stared at him, and it only took a moment for Dean’s attention to turn to him. Sam nodded meaningfully in the door’s direction. Dean paused for a moment before straightening. He passed Harry on the way to the door, dropping a hand onto the boy’s shoulder as he went. Sam followed.

Dean led them out past the porch to the Impala, where he leaned comfortably. His expression and manner seemed resigned.

“All right,” he invited tiredly. “Let’s have it.”

Sam could have taken offense, could have, but didn’t. Instead he moved to Dean’s side, and bumped shoulders.

“Remember when we used to hunt wendigos?”

Dean smile was a bit fragile, but Sam had put it there. “No,” he said ruefully.

Sam took a breath to prepare himself, and then took the plunge.

“I’m sorry Dean.” Dean lifted his eyebrows, questioning. “Harry was right. I am…angry. I’m always so angry. It’s ruined everything.”

Dean looked uncomfortable at that and opened his mouth to refute Sam’s words but Sam didn’t let him.

“This all started because I didn’t listen to you, because I thought that I knew better.”

“That bitch Ruby didn’t help,” Dean pointed out grimly. “Look man, it’s…” Dean faltered for a moment before plowing on. “It’s stupid to try to dole out blame now. This is what we’ve got but we can fix it. We _will_ fix it.”

“Do you think that we can? Do you actually think that Harry can fight Lucifer man on man, and win?”

Dean sobered, frowning down at his boots for a moment. “He thinks he can.”

“And that’s enough?”

“It’s got to be.” A moment later Dean’s eyes narrowed as he realized the trap he had stepped into. “No,” he said shortly. “Why can’t you understand that I would never let you do that? It’s bad enough that Harry’s being ridden by one of those bastards. You want me to sit by and watch the same thing happen to you?”

“You’re a hypocrite,” Sam said without heat.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath, and pushed himself away from the Impala. He paced a few steps away, and then returned, his expression thunderous.

“Fine,” Dean snapped. “Yeah, fine. You’re right. I don’t give a shit. I _will not_ let it happen again. You said that you should have listened to me. Truth is: yes you absolutely should have. And Harry should have. You both should have _fucking listened to me!_ ” Dean broke off, taking a deep breath. “And now here we are. I don’t know how this will end, but in a perfect world, we’ll be able to walk away from all this, bodies largely intact. To do that we need to stop digging ourselves into the hole. So we’ll stop, right now, and work with what we’ve got.”

Sam shook his head. “We go in smart or we don’t go in at all?”

“Stop,” Dean growled. “Stop throwing that in my face.”

“Then stop being stupid!” Sammy finally exploded. He took a breath, regained himself. “We’re trying to end the apocalypse. You don’t do that half-cocked. Can’t you trust me?”

Dean turned away, but not before Sam was able to see the despair in his face.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “God, I’m so sorry Dean. But please, let me try. I did this. I have to fix it.”

His brother ran a hand over his face, and he seemed so tired. The little brother in him, Dean’s Sammy, waited to stop. His brother loved him, was only doing what was best. But Sam was not worth the world, he just wasn’t.

“Dean…”

Dean looked at him, his eyes anguished. Sam let him see it. He let Dean see it all. His openness was returned, and Sam saw Dean’s all in return. His brother’s fear, his boundless worry, but mostly his love. And he saw it, when Dean gave in.

Sam didn’t speak, didn’t want to push the scales back out of his favor. So he just nodded, and tentatively reached out to touch Dean’s forearm. He was only slightly surprised when Dean pulled him into a hug.

“You little idiot. Okay.” He pulled away. “Now convince the others.”

Sam had to smile because this was proof. He shouldn’t have needed it, but he soaked it up anyway.

*

Michael looked older, Harry noted curiously. It was strange, seeing a face that was his but not. His age was always in flux. Was he fifteen, the age he had died and been dragged to the fires of hell? One thousand two hundred years had passed there, more than a millennium. Was that his age? Or twenty-seven, the age he would be now if he had lived?

Or perhaps his face reflected the age he’d been when he’d been set on the path to lose his innocence, such as it had been.

The last thought rang uncomfortably true. Of course it was the one that Michael responded to.

“You will not succeed,” Michael said.

Harry tilted his head to the side, staring into eyes that were not is own, even as the opposite was simultaneously true.

“What makes you say that?”

“My Father has decreed that paradise will exist on earth. He has said it, so it shall happen. His word is divine law, and it shall be so.”

Harry reached out, touching the reflection that was him, but was not him. “You could never gain access to my thoughts. It frustrated you.”

Fire burned in Michael’s eyes – _anger_ – smoldering for a moment before it was whisked away beneath a mask of cold benevolence. It should have scared Harry it made him smile instead.

“The night before I agreed to your possession, I had a dream.”

It was Michael’s turn to tilt his head to the side, unable to hide his curiosity.

“I am to Death, as you are to your Father, I suppose. He spoke to me, and revealed to me that this was my task, to make sure that Dean’s body and soul remained free of your influence. Why do you think Death would tell me to do that, if I wasn’t destined to?”

Anger had fled. Now Michael appeared intrigued. “I don’t know. Death has always been beyond us. Separate.” The hardness returned. “It doesn’t matter. I will follow my Father’s decree.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I plan to do it for you. But it would help if you stopped resisting.”

“You want to use my Grace.” It was not a question.

“I can’t take care of Lucifer without it.”

Michael smiled at him. It was not a wholly kind smile. “It will destroy you. Your soul will burn away.” Hardness gave way to earnestness. Michael meant what he said, and his concern was real. “As it is, your body is damaged, perhaps beyond saving, but your soul would eventually move on. If you take my power as your own, it is only a matter of time before it burns everything away. There would be nothing after; it would be like you never existed.”

Harry only had to think for a moment.

“To save the world? I think I’ll take one for the team.”

Michael regarded him for a moment, something new entering his gaze. It looked remarkably like respect, though here was the last place Harry would think to look for it.

“You are not what I expected, Harry Potter.”

Harry smiled. “I get that a lot.”

Michael tipped his head down, his eyes, which were really Harry’s eyes, grew lidded. There was a burning, a sensation that put the previous burning out of his mind. This was happening now, Harry realized. His reflection lost color, lost shape, and became light.

_“We’ll become one, but you must move quickly. You now exist on borrowed time.”_

“All time is borrowed,” Harry said haltingly, struggling to stay focused as Michael’s Grace began to overwhelm him.

Michael laughed, and then he was gone, his essence bonded tightly to Harry’s. At once, it was as if his mind burst open.

The Host, he thought distantly. He could hear the Host, and he knew, quite clearly that they could hear him. They were _his_ , his men to command.

*

Sam stood just to the right of the bathroom door, listening as Harry’s breathing slowed and quieted. The one-sided conversation he’d overheard bore examination. His resolve had flown in its wake. He’d wait, he decided queasily.

*

Late that night, after everyone had settled down to bed, Harry quietly padded down the stairs. He paused long enough to glance into the study, and saw that Sam had folded himself onto the small couch with Dean stretched out on the floor nearby. He eased the front door open and stepped out onto the porch. The moon was bright, and Harry sat in what was quickly becoming one of his favorite spots.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and prayed.

What felt like a moment later, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Harry took another slow breath.

“Gabriel,” he greeted on the exhale.

“In the flesh,” Gabriel quipped. “And I gotta say, happy to see you short stuff. I knew you could do it.”

“I need your help,” Harry said shortly.

“Sure you do. What are brothers for?”

Harry opened his eyes and Gabriel grinned at him. “Oh Harry, Harry,” he said, and something like awe gave his voice an unexpected weight. “They have no idea what they’ve got coming to them, do they?”

Harry thought about his plans, sketchy now, but quickly evolving. He thought about the allies he had. About Sam, Bobby, and Castiel, all who had nothing left to lose. He thought about Dean.

And he smiled.


End file.
